


So I Write and Wait

by aimzee



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Forbidden Love, M/M, Romance, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimzee/pseuds/aimzee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel and Sebastian should not be friends. They both share entirely  different lives. One is of noble blood and the other is a mere servant. However, this hardly matters to either as their friendship grows, testing the boundaries of a conventional society in 1914. While at war, they will find themselves standing together, but once again divided.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So I write and wait

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover of Jennifer Johnston's "How many Miles to Babylon?" and Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler. I have decided to upload this story here as well as it is already up on FF.Net. However I will be re-doing each chapter.
> 
> This story is told in flashback.
> 
> Enjoy!

It all came down to this; me sitting here with my soiled notebook, blotchy pen, ink and dirtied paper at a desk that looked about ready to collapse if I put any more pressure on it. The dulling wood was chipped with the signatures of those who have gone before me. There were not many of them, but just enough to decorate the small desk with history.

I write and wait.

I am committed to nothing. I love nothing and... I... I love no living person.

As I wait, I accept that I have no future, but only what you can count in hours. I wasn't entirely disturbed by that realisation as I thought I would be. In fact, it was quite welcoming.

As I sit and wait, I have only but the past to play with in my mind. I can juggle with a series of possibly inaccurate memories. I figure that it does not matter if they are disjointed. They are distant now.

As I wait, I slowly come to terms that all my hopes and dreams with... no. There is no possibility of seeing them brought to life.

He's gone now.

It's over for both of us.

I have not bothered to communicate with either my father or mother. They will do that for me when it's done. 

Will they feel any pain? My father might. It may possibly kill him. but maybe, like me, he may be better off dead. Will my mother cry? It is a question I have been asking myself for as long as I have been sitting in this creaking chair. I know my cold heart will not bleed for her if she does.

Major Randall has not been near me, for which I am duly grateful. That cold man... he will never convert me. Not now. That much was clear from the very beginning. He will never make a man out of me, but I suppose he won't lose much sleep over that.

Seemingly unimportant places, woodlands, lakes, memories... they are the center of the world for for tens of thousands of men right now. Those places will be there final destination, the end of the world for many, for either the heroes and cowards or the masters and slaves.

I can only guess that it's raining outside. It is February after all. The heavy winter rain shows no mercy for the dying screams of men.

The priest comes to visit from time to time, not that i appreciate it. On insistence, he shows me the gold cross he wears under his viyella vest. He takes it out with pride and allows me the apparent honour of seeing such a fine piece, not that I'm the least bit interested.

"Have you faith?" he asked me yesterday when he came to visit again for the the umpteenth time.

That wasn't his exact phrasing. It was much more sophisticated than that and came out more like he was embarrassed to ask such a thing.

I shook my head slightly, not caring if I offended him.

"No?" he questioned. His eyes had widened behind his smudged spectacles.

I nodded my head, "I'm not exactly what you call one who is among the faithful."

There had been something in his yellow blood-shot eyes. Pity perhaps? When I saw it, I wanted to laugh. I refrained from doing so.

"I don't believe faith can comfort the living, and it seems to me that it is irrelevant for the dead." My throat was dry, coarse. I tried clearing it which only made things worse. I took a slip of the slightly browned water in the glass that sat by my shabby notebook. I didn't take any notice of the dirtied water. It was not important now.

"But you're alive." he noted, looking very much confused.

I wanted so desperately to roll my eyes, "For the moment."

The atmosphere grew uncomfortable. He pushed the cross back in over his his shirt and soon left after conveniently excusing himself. I am glad that he left. His presence could bore any man to tears.

Sitting back in my chair, I push that memory aside. It was not worth thinking about. 

But as I sit here, beautiful memories begin to fill my mind. Tragically beautiful memories. 

Memories of him.


	2. Violin and piano lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciel recalls his lessons with his tutors and offers insight into his dysfunctional family that lived in a very conventional society. 
> 
> I decided to update again today. Thank for the Hits everyone!
> 
> Enjoy the second installment!

As a child I think it’s fair to say that I had a relatively happy childhood. But nearing the end of it, I was alone. I am not going to make any excuses for myself. I am only stating the fact. The only real company I had was Elizabeth’s. She was my loud, carefree, slightly obnoxious cousin. She was the only child other my age who I was allowed to play with. She and aunt Francis would come to visit from time to time, weather permitting. But other than that, I was completely on my own. I was isolated from other children my own age who lived outside the grounds by the barriers of class and education. The only other child my age was the son of a maid who worked in our estate. I was not allowed to converse with this boy. I was forbidden to do so.

When I was young, I was often sick. I suffered from asthma and still do to this day, but it is not as bad as back then. My parents often didn't let me outside because of it. Most days, I would be taken to bed and remain there alone for the entirety of an illness that happened to plague me at some point or another.

Education was seen as an important factor for both my parents, especially my father, as I was the heir to the Funtom Company and I would become the head of the house when he passed on. A series of ladies taught me a series of forgettable subjects and at the magical age of ten, I was handed over to the curate who, probably to supplement his tiny income, spent several painstaking hours each day teaching me the history of Britain, Mathematics, English literature, French grammar, and of course Latin. Latin was clearly his favorite subject and the way his grey eyes would light up when the moment arrived for us to take out our numerous Latin books which we translated together… Oh how I would take pride and sick joy out of watching him maliciously when I fumbled and stumbled over my words on purpose and seeing the pleasure in his eyes visibly disintegrate. No one ever said I was an angel as a child.

I remember his smell. He smelt like mint. Sometimes, I would catch him prying two white, chapped fingers into the breast pocket of his dark waistcoat and pull out two little sweet mints which he would then slip into his mouth as if he were performing some minor criminal act. He never offered me one. Bastard. But it's not like I would ever actually accept anyway. Always he would jump out of his skin when he saw that I was watching him.

I can’t forget the piano and violin teacher who would come out from London on the train twice a week. I do not really remember much about him. He was completely ineffective as both a violin and piano instructor which was the reason for his going. On a typical day after a passable lesson of me attempting to play Bach’s ‘Chaconne’ in ‘D’ minor, we would move onto the piano lessons, which always left me as clueless as when I first started. My mother would stride into the drawing room near the end of each lesson, her skirts fanning out behind her which each step, and sigh restlessly and fret at my lack of progress. She would sit herself elegantly white, gold-lined Victorian fainting couch and drum her fingers against the fabric while studying us. He was already a nervous man, and her presence seemed to treble that. He would become almost manic with nervousness while she was in the room. he would tremble. He tried to hide it, but I would see his hands shake and when he caught my staring, he would put them in his trouser pockets with a twitch of his lids. Sometimes, he would pick distractedly at hardened food on his ever-dirtying grey jacket as I attempted to play some sort of melody. The drawing room would smell of fresh apples and of the white roses my mother would bring in from the garden. The drawing room was always bright. My mother had a fondness for white and all colours bright that lined with gold. Even the piano had a beautiful gold design. During the summer the glass doors were often wide open, allowing the cool summer breeze to flow through, causing the veil like drapes to drift and sway.

Oh how the music teacher was so out of place.

He approached my mother at a rather slow place, probably trying to delay the inevitable. I regret that he looked almost like a speck of dust travelling across the floor in his grey fading suit. Yes, it must have been during the summer time because the smell of apples and the image of white roses fill my mind. 

“Ah… yes.” he began, and I shut my eyes tightly. I could hear the nerves already, “The little fellow is… uh… coming along nicely. Yes. You do… you do notice that there… uh… has been… progress… I feel.”

There was silence from my mother. I guess that her eyes had wandered to my still form and then back to him.

“I do hope that… you are satisfied.” he stuttered out eventually, leaning low over her with his dull blue eyes twitching like they normally would. I could hear his fingers tearing at the crusty stains on his jacket. I remember thinking that if he kept at it, a hole would form.

A half-hearted laugh escaped my mother’s lips. I internally cringed for the poor teacher.

“Progress…” the word rolled off her tongue sarcastically, “Of a kind, I suppose.”

My mother waved him away with her delicate little hand. I sat still, not having moved an inch.

As a child I had believed that my mother was a wonderful woman. I knew that when it came to me and my education, she would become as brutal as any man.

“Such a great deal of your talent, Misses Phantomhive… has rubbed off on the uh… the… little lad.”

I began to play a very basic arpeggio softly when my mother motioned her hand towards the door, “Your train. I mean, you mustn't miss…”

“Oh no, no, no. Of course not. So…” he trailed off and glanced around the room, as if memorising it for his more darker days, “I’ll just be on my way.” he sighed with a shaky breath. He attempted to crack a smile but gave up as soon as the thought entered his mind, “Trains… they… eh… they wait for no man.”

He bowed once to my mother who smiled sickly sweet right back at him, but her eyes passed him by as if he were not there. He then turned to me.

“And you, young lad… practice. Yes. Till next Tuesday.”

He began to move towards the door. I watched him from where I was seated while my mother studied the roses in the vase near where she stood. I don’t know why but… no. That’s a lie. I do know why I got up from my stool and followed the poor man out of the room. I had suddenly felt some sort of emotion towards him. Sympathy perhaps… I followed through the bright corridor and out into the marble-floored foyer. Stopping at the front door, he turned around and gave my shoulders a knowing, gentle squeeze.

“Well… what a lucky little fellow you are to have such a… beautiful mother.”

“Do you have a coat?” I asked, looking up at him. At ten years old, I was small for my age. I wrapped my tiny fingers around the doorknob and turned my hand, opening the door and letting in a slight breeze from outside.

“A coat?” he let out a small defeated laugh, “Ah no coat, lad.” he replied with a kind smile. There was something in his eyes. It was the same look the priest had given me, “I don’t feel the cold.”

A lie. He has probably never felt warm in his life. 

He stepped out bravely into the summer breeze and down the steps into the sunshine.

When I arrived back to the drawing room, father was there, talking with mother. I sidled up to the crack in the doorway and listened.

“Vincent, he _really_ must go.” she urged. I could hear her skirts swishing as she moved, “It is downright insulting to have such a man teaching our son.”

“My dear Rachel, he-”

“He can’t teach. Simple as that.” she said, cutting him off, “I have heard the child play and there has been no improvement. Ciel needs to learn while he is still young.”

“I agree. But... Rachel, what am I to say?” came my father’s stressed reply.

I heard her release an impatient sigh.

“Vincent just… just make up some excuse. Anything.”

“I can hardly insult him, can I?” my father replied, his low chuckle reverberating about the room.

“Honestly, he’s like someone who has been swallowed up by life and spat back out again.”

A window sighed open.

“I will teach the child myself. That way, I will get to spend more time with him.” I thought I could hear the smile behind her words.

I had smiled too, but felt sorry for my poor music teacher who never appeared again.

True to her word, she taught me herself, and I improved tremendously.

When I was around twelve years old, my father brought up the question of me attending a proper school. Weston College to be exact. The question arose suddenly, and I mean it arose and nothing came of it.

That day when he brought up the idea of Weston College, lunch was almost over. I had, of course, been playing with my leftover food that was on my plate.

“Ciel, how would you like to go to school?” my father asked me with a pleasant smile. The question had taken me completely by surprise. As expected, my mother answered for me.

“Vincent.” she said calmly, but there was an underlying warning in it.

My father smiled briefly down the table at her, but with the table as long as it was, I doubt it had reached her.

“What do you think?” he asked, turning his attention back to me with the warmest of smiles.

“I had not really thought of it, father.” I admitted.

“Well, you should.” he replied, reaching out a hand and tousling my hair playfully with a laugh. At the dining table, my place was beside my father at one end, while my mother chose to sit at the other, far from us, “When I was your age, I would have been in Weston College by now just starting off.”

“Mister Bingham is more than adequate.” my mother stated from her place opposite him.

“I believe Weston College is more suitable and would provide a much better education, don’t you think?” he reiterated.

“Vincent, our son is delicate. We cannot dare to put his health at risk.”

“He is only delicate in your eyes, my love. I don’t see any signs of it now. Why look, he has eaten a most remarkable lunch… or most of it.”

“Doctor Simmons…”

“Doctor Simmons is an idiot.”

“Vincent…”

“Rachel, you know perfectly well that Doctor Simmons will say anything you want him to say.”

I believed that from the look in his eye and the curse he had uttered under his breath, he knew he had said too much and regretted it immediately. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing down the table at my mother nervously. From what I could see, her eyes had widened and she looked hurt.

Have I mentioned that my mother was a good actress?

"That’s absurd.” she whispered with a sneer.

I decided to train my eyes on the view outside the windows and kept my mouth firmly shut.

“I thought we agreed on this a long time ago. You remember, don’t you? The time he had pneumonia…”

“Rachel, that was a long time ago. The situation has changed now. He is much stronger.”

My mother’s eyes trained themselves on me. I could feel them. She slowly placed a piece of apple in her mouth and looked away.

“What if he has another asthma attack?” she asked after swallowing the fruit, “What then?”

I must have moved or breathed too deeply because my father’s eyes fell on me.

“Ciel, you are excused.”

“Thank you, father.”

It took all of my willpower not to jump from the chair and bolt from the room.

So I made my escape slowly.

I pushed myself up from my seat, and carefully placed one foot before the other.

And it took all of my strength not to turn around and reassure the owner of the worried maroon eyes that stared after me.

 

 


	3. The lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciel thinks back to a warm day spent with Sebastian.
> 
> This chapter is very Sebastian-centered.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> I am new to this site so I would appreciate some Kudos or perhaps a comment or two :) That would be pretty cool. Thanks for reading!

Sebastian was _always_ there.

He was _everywhere_.

Or at least, that's what I imagined.

As butler to my father, he was highly thought of. He was a reliable servant. A servant to my father. Vincent Phantomhive. Sebastian was a dependable companion in my father's eyes, and seven years my senior. My mother's eyes would flash whenever I looked in his general direction when we all gathered in the lounge for some afternoon tea and shortbread. He would stand devotedly behind my father's place in his armchair, who would read his newspaper with slight interest. My mother would often knit, stitch or recite a few quotes from poems that seemed to spur her curiosity at the time. Most of these poems were the works of Edgar Allen Poe. She kept a large hardback book of his works on the polished table that sat in the middle of the room between us. Her favorite poem by the master poet was "Annabel Lee". It didn't surprise me. I found it a depressing poem, and she was a depressing woman. She would often read it to me at night when I was younger while I did my best to shut out her words. She would read to me when I was taken to bed and could not fall asleep.

_"But our love it was stronger by far than the love_

_Of those who were older than we-_

_Of many far wiser than we-_

_And neither the angels in heaven above,_

_Nor the demons down under the sea,_

_Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_

_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."_  

My mother would coo at me in an attempt to send me to sleep, while reading me a poem about a dead woman entrapped in a tomb by the sea. It was not exactly a comforting notion for a six year old who already suffered with nightmares.

I myself would sit on the couch opposite my father and stare idly past him, careful not to look to his left for fear of my mother sending me a warning glare. This was what it was like in my parents company when I was around thirteen years old. I was a hard child, or teenager at this point, to entertain. My father tried. He attempted. My mother at this point had given up entirely. My conversations with my father always followed the same pattern. They rarely consisted of a few sentences, three or four at most, and they normally came from himself. I didn't like to talk much. Because of this, I was normally left up to my own devices which was perfect for me. I preferred it this way. I never knew any different.

Visits from my cousin and aunt Francis kept me occupied and my heart racing with dread and fear. Elizabeth would often insist on visiting as frequently as possible. They did not live too far away. They both usually visited together on a Saturday and would stay the night till Sunday. My aunt Francis always had a complaint ready on her lips and took part in fencing during the summer months when the weather would pick up. I too had to take part, however much I pleaded to sit out. Against Elizabeth, it was inevitable that I would lose.

During her visits, we would often walk together in the gardens and stroll by the lake. Those memories with her are quite vague. I never cared much for physical exertion, let alone walking. I found it to be a chore rather than a pleasure.

I remember a particularly hot summer. I was fifteen I believe. I can't quite remember. The memory is a little blurred in my mind. Elizabeth and I had just enjoyed some pink lemon juice, courtesy of our chef, Bardroy, who wasn't much good at making anything. But his pink lemon juice was approved by Elizabeth, which was most important. And so we left to journey on our little adventure once again. She would wrap her arm delicately around mine and smile at me from time to time. Unfortunately, she was a little taller than myself so her eyes would look down slightly to meet my own.

When we made it back to the house, my mother wished to speak to her privately. I never could understand how women found pleasure in gossiping amongst themselves. I could tell from her expression that Elizabeth was pleased to go indoors from the heat. My mother insisted that I do the same, but I realised that I should at least enjoy the weather while it was still nice.

The flowers in the garden were in full bloom and bees buzzed around sipping up the nectar from each. The grass was a luscious shade of healthy green and cropped to perfection. When we were children, myself and Elizabeth would chase one another around the fountain and laugh if we got sprayed by water spurting from the tip of the beautiful water feature. Apple trees in the orchard bore tasty fruit which my mother would pick to accompany her breakfast, lunch and dessert.

I continued along the white pebbled path towards the stable yard that was a little ways from the main house. The smell was overpowering and I wrinkled my nose as it wafted towards me. That was another reason why I hated farm animals, not just horses. They stunk and you could smell them a mile off. Even though I was not fond of horses, my father insisted that I have my own, even though I had advised him not to waste good money on a horse that I would never use. To get to the stable yard you have to pass the large fields were the horses grazed, of which there were many. I caught sight of my friesian stallion gallivanting with a mere of the same breed. I remember thinking, 'Not another one' as I passed them by. We already had two foals. We didn't need any more.

Hearing the clatter of a rake against hard ground coming from my horse's stable, I wandered over despite myself, and the smell. I poked my head around the doorway and was greeted with a view I did not expect, nor minded.

Sebastian stood bent over while raking at the hay on the ground of the stable. It was stuffy inside the rather spacious room and he wiped at his forehead to rid himself of the gleam of sweat that had formed there. His once-white shirt hung on the hook by the door and he continuously tucked his long bangs of pure black hair behind his ears as it kept falling in front of his eyes whenever he proceeded to rake at the hay.

Not wanting to disturb him, and not wanting to draw attention to myself as I realised I was staring, I tried my best to tip-toe back out of the door. But the Lord above did not seem so kind as to let me go unnoticed. I heard my name being called behind me, and I had cussed under my breath.

"Sir, is anything the matter?" Sebastian called from behind me as I had one foot out the door. 

I turned back on my heels and faced him. He was breathing deeply through his mouth and his face and pale chest were gleaming with sweat from the exertion of the hard work he had been doing. His trousers and shoes were completely ruined. They were covered in bits of straw and dust.

I shook my head a little too eagerly, "No, Sebastian. Nothing's..." I swallowed, "Nothing's wrong."

He stood staring at me as if calculating something in his head. I attempted a small smile. I felt awkward. There was something about Sebastian that always made me nervous.

He was as aware of me as I was of him. It had always been like that.

Before I could filter my thoughts on what I was going to say to relieve the awkward atmosphere, I blurted out the one thing I had chanted in my mind not to say.

"Anything I can help with, Sebastian?"

Damn it all.

His head pulled back a little and he outright stared me up and down. The edges of his flushed lips curled upwards and an amused gleam shone bright in his maroon eyes.

"Excuse me?" he ask a little incredulously.

I glowered at him, "You're not deaf."

He smirked and barked a laugh and I soon cracked a smile despite the heat I could feel rising in my cheeks. This was what it was always like. Yes he made me nervous, for reasons I hadn't quite known back then, but soon that would just fade away and I could be _me_ in his company, not the reclusive Ciel my parents knew.

"Are you being serious?"

I took in a breath, and coughed when I breathed in dust, "As serious as an asthma attack, Sebastian."

He fidgeted at my choice of words. I thought it was funny. He stared at my clothing then, "I don't think that's suitable." he noted, pointing at my stuffy little suit that my mother forced me to wear for my aunt's visit. I glanced down and huffed. He was right. I knew I would probably pass out if I worked in it. I already felt extremely claustrophobic as it was.

"You will get it dirty. Are you sure? Won't your mother disapprove?" he asked teasingly while looking smug.  

I curled my lip at him and slipped my jacket off my shoulders and hung it over the bottom half of the stable door. I hung my cravat atop my jacket and rolled up my sleeves without any comment.

To be honest, after only fifteen minutes of work, I was spent. Throwing in the towel, I simply rested against the cold wall and watched him work. The inside hairs of my fringe were plastered to my forehead. I felt like I was in an oven. The cold of the wall gave some relief to the heat. 

"How do you do it?" I asked him a little breathlessly as he laid down fresh hay on the ground from the small hay bale in the corner.

"How do I do what?" he asked, looking over at me through his bangs.

"All of this." I answered, looking around the freshly cleaned stable, "I'm tired after only fifteen minutes of work."

"I'm not sure that could have been classed as work." he teased with a smile.

The sun was still high in the sky by the time we both left.

"Come on."

I followed him out of the stable and down the path, side by side. I didn't really take note of where we were going, but I knew it wasn't towards the house. I didn't deem it important.

Soon we stopped at the bank of the lake which lay slightly below and to the south of the mansion house.

"Well, come on then." he whispered close to my ear as he began to strip himself of his shirt and dirty trousers.

I could only stare wide-eyed back at him in horror and slight curiosity, of which I was ashamed.

He walked away from the bank a few feet before turning on his heels and making a running jump into the lake. The water splashed up into my face and I instantly wiped my cheeks clean.

He broke the surface of the water and shook out his hair like a dog. The water rippled around him and glimmered.

I was still fully clothed and had no intention of changing that.

"Aren't you getting in?" he asked a little disappointedly.

"Are you mad?" I shot back.

"Not entirely."

Even though I was a teenager, I was still quite small and particularly fragile, of which he used to mock me endlessly.

He started to swim towards me and I waited until he was waist-deep in water before speaking.

"I don't-"

"There's plenty of room for both of us." he pointed out, cutting me off with a gentle smile, "Please join me."

I stared at him for quite some time before eyeing the vast, inviting lake. I took a moment to ponder. I knew that mother would probably confine me to my room for the next century, not only for swimming in the lake, but also for spending time with a servant. A servant who she particularly disliked. 

But as I watched him dive under the water and surface about twenty yards out, I couldn't find it in me to really care what she said to me or did. Besides, I was completely filthy, and it was a warm, sun filled day.

I began to take off each piece of clothing, one by one. Clad only in my underwear, I slid down the grass verge and into the water. Surprisingly, it wasn't as chilly as I thought it would be. In fact, it warmed as my body acclimatised. 

I had gone swimming in that lake once or twice before on my own when it had been a hot day. My mother hadn't found out about either time, except my father, who promised to keep my swimming in the lake a secret between me and him. It was certainly more fun swimming with someone rather than just by myself. I wasn't a fool though. I knew not to stay in too long.

Sebastian was quite far out in the lake while I stayed relatively close to the bank. I waved over at him, specks of water flying off my arm, and when I caught his attention, I pointed to the bank to let him know I was getting out. I clambered up on to the grass and wiped at my arms to get rid of the excess water. He quickly followed suit and got out himself. We both shook out our hair and I couldn't help but stop and stare in awe. He was like some godly being, and instantly my nerves set in.

Sebastian was twenty-two years old. A "bright young man", my father would say. He had been in my father's service from when he was just fifteen, nearing sixteen. Of course he had to work hard to get where he was; my father's right-hand man. It wasn't until I hit the big 'One zero" that I grew curious about him. We had been companions ever since. Secret companions.

There was a slight breeze that hit my back and I shivered.

I hated the cold.

While his back was turned I decided to toss his clothes in a nearby bush. I don't know what came over me. I felt a bit idiotic afterwards but I didn't care.

And so I began to laugh.

"I have your clothes." I snickered at him, "But I've hidden them. You will _never_ find them."

I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks just thinking about how silly I sounded.

He had stared back at me as if not fully believing his eyes.

The brat was actually messing around.

"Where?" he pondered, placing his chin in his hands, looking very philosophical. He eyed the surrounding area with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I'm not telling you." I teased, slowly slithering away step by step.

I'm embarrassed just thinking about it.

"I'll make you tell me." he promised determinedly. He began taking steps towards me, almost like a predator.

"Oh as if you could!" I shot back at him with a wicked grin.

"You'll regret saying that."

I merely laughed.

What I didn't expect, however, was for him to grab hold of my wrist and twist it back. It wasn't painful, but it was enough to render me motionless. I found myself pushed chest first against the trunk of the willow tree he was so fond of, with him at my back.

"I caught you."

"Gah... Okay! Uh!" I gasped as he tightened his hold, "Pax! Pax!"

"Pax? You're giving in so soon?"

"Yes. Peace. I give in. You win this round, shrewd demon. I am your humble slave." I grinned, but giggled almost girlishly as his tickled my side with his free hand.

"I knew you'd give in easily." he laughed breathlessly against my neck.

I planted my forehead against the tree, breathing heavily as I tried to recover myself. 

At the time, I didn't think anything of his free hand resting casually on my hip.

He still hadn't let go. 

"Slave?" he whispered. His breath ghosted just below my earlobe.

"What?" I hissed back when my left cheek was pressed up against the tree.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked, his nose now pressed against my hair.

"In the bushes, over there." I answered, trying to look to my right to show him where I meant.

"You get them, slave."

He eventually released me and I stumbled back from the tree and into his chest. He placed his hands on my shoulders and steadied me.

"One would think you are drunk." he teased, squeezing my shoulders gently.

"Ha. Ha." I sneered back at him over my shoulder as I went to fetch him his clothes.

I tossed them over to him and by that time, my skin had dried but my hair was still fairly damp. We put on our dirtied clothes, which I'll admit was counterproductive, and I fell back on to the grass and stared up at the sky and the disappearing sun, of which I was forbidden to do. Mother had told me that it could cause blindness, madness, sunstroke and things called brain tumours.

He sat down beside me and sighed contently.

"My name is Sebastian Michaelis." he said suddenly, holding out his hand for me to shake.

I stared at him like he had grown three heads but soon caught on. Over the years I had slowly gotten used to Sebastian's weird sense of humour.

I smiled up at him and introduced myself, "Ciel. Ciel Phantomhive." I replied back and shook his hand firmly.

"Really?" he asked, feigning confusion. His eyes lit up at our little game.

"Really really." I replied with small smile.

"I thought it was Slave." he grinned, taking a hold of my earlobe and pinching it between his forefinger and thumb.

"You wish." I retorted, pulling his hand away from my ear and pushing it back into his lap.

"I think I'll call you Ciel." he decided finally after a minute of silence.

"And I'll call you Sebastian. Deal?"

He nodded in agreement and held out his pale, white hand towards me. I placed my hand in his as he fell elegantly back against the grass. He brought my hand upon his chest and played idly with my fingers. We both lay looking up at the forbidden sun until it disappeared completely out of sight.


	4. I had a friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is more of Sebastian and Ciel during Ciel's flashback.
> 
> And yes I got my first Kudos! Thank you anonymous reader! And thank you to everyone who had read or bookmarked this. As someone new here, I really appreciate it. I hope to update maybe everyday or every 2 days as 14 chapters are already done. However after that I won't be updating until after the 22nd of May. College exams will finish then and I will be free to update again. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think if you want to! 
> 
> Enjoy!

I had a friend.

No one knew of it... of us.

He was a private and secret friend.

During the day, he would go about his duties in the house, whether it was preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner or simply fulfilling my father's wishes. Waking up in the mornings had become less of a tedious chore since our little alliance down by the lake. I felt as if that moment had secured us together forever. It was nice to be woken up by a friend rather than a servant. I would often catch a glimpse of him walking about the various hallways on some task or another. In the bright evenings of summer, we would meet up, either by the lake or up on the hill to the side of the house which lay hidden by a series of stunning green maple trees, which would turn to vibrant shades of orange and red in August.

"All I ever seem to do in the lessons is boring Latin. I'm sick of it." I groaned over at him one day as I lay on the grass while he sat back against the trunk of one of the maple trees during his lunch break. My father was quite lax when it came to Sebastian. 

"I thought you enjoyed it?"

"What gave you that idea?" I asked him incredulously, turning my head at an awkward angle to look back at him by the tree, "Of course I don't enjoy it." I had retorted, turning my head back to its original position and proceeded to stare up at the clouds which dotted the sky above, "I've heard enough about Caesar's invasion of Britain to last me a lifetime."

The ground had been a little moist unfortunately. It had rained the night before but it had not been sunny nor warm enough during the day to dry the ground completely. I knew my back was wet because I could feel the damp through my clothes, sending a small chill down my spine. Even so, I did not feel compelled to move.

The breeze rattled the leaves and I closed my eyes and listened, content to simply lay there and do nothing.

When we fought, playfully I mean, he always won, though as time went on I became a more practical fighter than I had been before, despite my size. I liked to think that my body was just taking its time, and when it was ready, I would shoot up to become as tall as my father. I had picked up some of Sebastian's tricks and he would laugh delightedly when I used them against him.

At that time, I was still learning to horse ride. It was like a tiny splinter buried deep in my skin that I couldn't ignore, nor rid myself of. Mother insisted that I learn the "art" of horse riding. Father only agreed because it was necessary for the hunts. Sebastian had been a pro at the sport. His skills were impeccable, along with his style. He would sigh loudly and rebuke me when I did something wrong or praise me enthusiastically when I did something right, which wasn't often.

My horse, Eloy, seemed to glide with a certain spectacular radiance while Sebastian was atop him demonstrating different styles and such. He would make me watch from outside the arena while he walked, cantered, galloped and jumped on the stunning creature.

Thinking back on it all, I'll admit that it seemed idyllic. I'm sure we had our ugly moments, as well as the beautiful ones. It was a real friendship, no matter how strange it was. We recognised that there were two sides to it. We both stood up for each other and we both knew of the good and the bad. If we didn't, then I wouldn't be sitting here writing this.

"I think I'll be leaving your father's service soon."

We were laying back on top of a small hill, five minutes away from the house, watching the field outside the grounds below us being ploughed. A man, presumably a farmer, stood behind while the horse pulled the plough. Its head drooped forward, completely relaxed and it's white feathered hooves never lost their rhythm.

I remember that I had remained frozen for some time, and so oddly conscious of the world around me. I could hear and feel everything. But I dared not move, in fear of somehow shattering to the ground in pieces.

"Why?" I asked quietly, so quiet in fact that I was afraid my voice had been carried off by the breeze flowing about us. I remember wondering if he would hear me. 

That was all I could manage to ask him.

"What do you mean 'why?', I have to."

I turned my eyes from the farmer to the man beside me.

"But..." I sucked in a breath, " _Why_ do you have to?"

I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. It was so loud in my ears that I was afraid I would not hear his answer.

"I can't remain remain here forever."

I didn't see a problem with him staying here, with me, forever.

"Why ever not?"

"My mother wants me to join the army."

I had just turned sixteen when he told me this. He was twenty-three.

"She wants me to follow in my father's footsteps." he moved his legs so they were splayed out in front of him on the grass, "Maybe then she will receive two envelopes instead of just one."

At the time, I wasn't sure what he meant by envelopes arriving to his mother. I know now.

"To be perfectly honest though," he said, leaning back on his elbows and glancing up at the sun, "I don't believe I am cut out to be a soldier. Perhaps I love myself too much, yes?"

I rolled my eyes at him. As if that wasn't obvious already.

Inside, I felt the need to say something, to thwart his decision.

"Sebastian..."

"Yes?"

His head had rolled back and his dark hair blew gently in the light breeze.

I had stared as panic rose in my chest. I did not know what I would do if I lost him.  

"Why don't you just stay?" I asked. I sounded more desperate than I wanted to, "You like it here, right?"

He didn't answer me.

"I can see that you do. Just think, you would have that black cat... and the horses. They would all be here. You would like that that, wouldn't you?"

A small breathless laugh escaped his lip and he shook his head gently.

I felt a small pang in my chest, like my heart was slowly sinking, or being suffocated.

"I'd like to, but..."

"But what?" I asked, shuffling from the grass and sitting up on my knobbly knees beside him, "It sounds like a great idea to me."

"Well, for one thing we wouldn't be able to remain friends any more."

There was loud noise coming from the field and I glanced over to see the horse quickening its pace. I then fell back on my backside and stared at Sebastian intently, "That won't happen."

"Of course it would." he looked back at me as if I were mentally stupid, "I'd be working for you. That changes everything."

"Not for me, you blithering idiot."

"Your father... you, and even your mother. You are all one, and they would find out. There's no way they would let us remain as we are if I stayed. They are already suspicious as it is, especially your mother."

"I don't think my father would care much."

Maybe he wouldn't, but mother would. She would fret that he would be a distraction to my duties. Sebastian was right about her at least. She would disapprove immensely.

"They _would_ care." he said finally after a few minutes silence with a small nod of his head, "My mother would too. One is as bad as the other."

I turned over and lay on my back, looking up at the pale sky. Clouds edged towards the sun slowly. It looked like it would rain soon.

The farmer must have realised this too and soon he had vanished, along with his horse and plough.

I thought it was all blown ridiculously out of proportion. 

"There is really no need for you to join the army."

He didn't say anything.

"Think about it. Like you said, you are simply not cut out to be a soldier."

Again, nothing.

"You could stay here. We could have a great time, you and I. We really could. What do you say?"

He began to laugh, but I don't believe he was laughing because he found me humorous. There was something in his voice, and his eyes had shrouded over sadly, "You are a good one for thinking things will be easy."

"Why shouldn't they be?"

He sighed, "You know why."

Frustration. That is what I felt.

"It is a good idea though, right?"

"Yes it is." he smiled over at me but it never reached his eyes, "It is an idea. That is all it will ever be."

Yes, definitely frustration.

"But you want that, don't you? To stay here with..."

"I'd love that."

I could not help but soar at his words. He grinned over at me, that quirky broad smile that I knew all too well. He was undoubtedly wiser than I.

He remained in my father's service for another month or so before he disappeared suddenly. He never mentioned to me that he was leaving. He just upped and left from the house and when I hadn't seen him for three days, I grew suspicious. I even ventured to the servants quarters and peeked around his room. His belongings were gone.

It was difficult to approach my father. He had not said a word to me and so I had a hard time trying to ask him where beloved servant had gone without actually asking him straight out.

"That butler," I had started nervously when in my father's presence, "Perhaps you could get him to make me a parfait... or something..."

I glanced over at my father in his desk. He had some sort of document in his right hand and his head rested in his left hand. He looked utterly bored out of his mind, and miserable.

"Father?"

He eyes glanced over at me then, "Yes, Ciel?"

"That black-haired servant... what was his name? Sebastian, was it?" I started again. I didn't half sound like I was bluffing, but it was too late to stop, "Maybe you could call on him to make me a parfait, or some sort of dessert. I am a little hungry."

"You just ate lunch." he stated bluntly.

I tried not to shut my eyes in embarrassment, "I would... I'd still like some."

"Well he is gone. I will call on Meyrin to get you something from the kitchen. I am sure even Bardroy can make you something."

He was gone.

That was it.

And so as time went on, I finally began to grow. But other than that, my life didn't change, except for Sebastian's absence. The days seemed endless and mashed together. I was so unbelievably bored and all I could really do to entertain myself was either read or walk around aimlessly and sit against the willow tree by the lake. Elizabeth's visits didn't help. I began to dislike them tremendously.

Another less-experienced man took Sebastian's place. I would eye him with contempt. He, much like my old violin and piano teacher, was sometimes incapable of performing duties which Sebastian would have breezed through. I would laugh lowly when he would make minor mistakes, just loud enough for him to hear and cause discomfort. My father's eyes would flash in warning but I never took any heed of them. I received plenty of those warnings, but nothing came of them. My father knew as well that no one could truly replace Sebastian, but that there was no harm in trying.

"He is a little below par, don't you think, father?" I would say. 

"Oh hush, Ciel." he would reply with a small smile. He could never tell me off.

It was not until a year and nine months had gone by that I saw him again. I had grown a lot taller and stronger during that time. I was nearly eighteen and it was about time that I grew. He had not changed, except he had taken up smoking, a habit he said he would never submit to. He was still pale as a sheet and his eyes still that odd shade of red. His hair was still as glossy and black as a raven's feathers. However, the skin under his eyes was much darker. I wasn't sure if that was due to lack of sleep or the cigarettes, or maybe both. But for some odd reason, it was a good look on him. He still looked much like a god.

"You disappeared." I had retorted haughtily when I found my words. I could not look him in the eye. Instead, I looked superficially out over the green fields, anywhere but him. I had come across him on my travels. He was lying down in our spot on the small hill and I had staggered back a few steps when I saw him sleeping peacefully on the grass. I had blinked so much that I begun to feel dizzy.

It was really him.

"Yes."

_Yes._

I felt like wringing his neck.

"And?" I shot at him.

"And what? I went to work for a farmer who lives near my family home. My mother insisted."

I clenched my teeth as I struggled to control the urge to slap him.

"You _never_ said anything to me. Not _one_ word. _Nothing_."

He looked like he was about to say something, but thought better of it.

"Why are you here?" I demanded, glaring at him as he pushed himself back and leaned against one of the maple trees atop the hill.

"To be reinstated."

It took me a few seconds to realise what he meant.

My eyes shot over to his, "Are you serious?"

My heart was thumping loudly in my ears.

"Yes. I have already spoken to your father. I start tomorrow. Apparently, my presence has been sorely missed." he sighed with a small smile. His eyes seemed to look through me and into the very depths of my being, "Your father wishes for me back also. He said the young man he had taken on to replace me had been a little below par." he added with a knowing smirk.

I averted my eyes quickly and stared down at his polished shoes, feeling my cheeks heat up with each passing second. I just hoped that my hair was long enough to cover them. It wasn't.

"Sit down."

I obeyed.

"Have a drink of this." he said, handing me over a small bottle that he had pulled out from his breast pocket.

"What is it?"

I was always cautious.

He rolled his eyes at me and thrust the bottle in my hand, "What do you think it is?"

I shrugged my shoulders and began to twist the cap.

He laughed, "Just drink it. We will celebrate the birth of that new foal."

"How do you know about that?" I asked him as I took a sniff of the liquid suspiciously and made a face as the smell hit my nose.

"I saw it quickly while I was passing through. Have a drink to celebrate it."

"It's not champagne." I stated bluntly and lifted my other hand so I could begin to twist the cap back on when his own hand flew up and held mine.

"We will call it champagne, just on this occasion, if it will make you happy. Get on with it."

I reluctantly put the bottle to my mouth and took a small sip of the liquid. Within seconds, my eyes began to tear up as it rushed down my throat, scorching me.

Through my tears, I could see that his reaction was the same when he took a drink.

I did not feel as much of a fool then.

I can safely say that that was my first and best experience of alcohol. He didn't let me to have too much though but allowed me the occasional sip here and there. Before going home, I remember that we fell asleep under the willow tree by the lake after our walk through the surrounding woods. He had leaned himself back against the trunk of the tree while I lay by his side with my head resting on his thigh. His fingers had run through my hair, lulling me to sleep...

He  _had_  been missed. Sorely missed.

I don't think I had ever felt so relieved as to when I saw that he had returned.

I had my friend back and I could only hope that he was going to stay by my side and never leave again.

Even in sleep his fingers continued to stroke my hair, pulling each strand softly through his fingers.

He admitted himself, however slightly slurred, that he still saw me as the fragile boy he knew from nearly two ago.

And yet even in sleep, he was still conscious of being careful with me.

It was the first time I ever felt loved. Properly loved by someone. It was different from the love I felt from my parents, or one of them at least. It was the sort of love I could not put my finger on. But it was nice, so I figured there was no need to try and understand it. All I wanted to do was relish in it. 


	5. It was discovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter offers further insight into Ciel's family.
> 
> I hope you're all enjoying this so far! Thank you all so much for reading! 
> 
> Enjoy!

As I write and wait, memories seem to disperse from a certain dormant part of my mind that I was unaware of. An odd comparison, but they remind me of unmerciful weeds striving and overtaking my thoughts, like an infection.

"What will you do with it all?"

There were no leaves on the trees and from where I was standing, from the chimney connected to the drawing-room, I could see a whirling cloud of smoke rise up bravely into the graying sky a good distance away. We were in the arena, just having finished a pitiable lesson, on my part, of me attempting to horse ride. After only an hour of the torture, I was heaving to catch my breath while we walked Eloy back to his stable.

The weather had turned for the worst during January.

It had been a particularly cold winter that year.

My body was only warm due to my attempts at surviving for the past hour. Sebastian had been excessively harsh during that lesson. His reprimands and unnecessarily loud sighs still ring in my ears to this day.

The horse was walking to his right, and I to his left.

"All of what?" I glanced to my right. He had looped the reins in with the neck strap on the horse's neck and allowed it to walk freely beside him.

"Everything."

"What do you mean 'everything'?"

"The company." he replied as we reached the entrance of the stable, "You must have thought of it a little by now."

"Oh, _that_. Well I haven't really planned much. I suppose I would like to expand it more, maybe build a factory in India or somewhere in the east of Europe."

"Well, you certainly have a fair idea of what you want." he noted, glancing over at me and offering me a warm smile that seemed to rid me of the chill of winter at that very moment.

He carefully took off the horse's tack and hung it up on the hook that was nailed to the wall. Giving the horse one last gentle pat on the neck, he stepped over to where I stood at the entrance. With a sweeping motion of his slender left hand, he allowed me to lead the way out and into the courtyard. We made our way to the lake with little or no conversation and sat under our willow tree. The silence between us was not awkward in the slightest. We did not need to speak our minds to let each other know what we were thinking. Personally, I believed that was another trait of a strong friendship. No words were necessary.

"Have you heard of it?" he asked suddenly with his head leaning back against the rough bark of the tree, "There have been talks of an oncoming war."

"War? What war?" I raised a brow, "Sebastian, you really do have the strangest notions sometimes."

"Believe me, it's been spoken of. There's something going on in the mainland of Europe. There are tensions. I've heard that Britain is going to fight if war breaks out."

The smell of cigarette smoke reached my nose and I glanced over at him to find him exhaling the repulsive smoke out through his mouth.

"It's nothing but silly street-talk, and you _know_ that's a filthy habit." I informed him while eyeing the offending object being held delicately between his pale fingers.

"Is it?" he asked redundantly, taking another drag.

"It is. It may not be proven, not yet, but I know it is."

"It's needed."

I scoffed, "You're being ridiculous, Sebastian. There won't be a war. Mister Bingham hasn't mentioned anything of it."

"Mister Bingham." he laughed at the name, "What would he possibly know?"

War. It was hard to imagine that it could ever touch us within the confines of our world. The world that consisted of Sebastian and I, and no one else.

"I believe that Mister Bingham has a thing or two to learn then, don't you think?"

"He's not that bad. He's just a bit of a stick."

"Does he punish you?" he asked quietly. His voice had lowered and his eyes darkened. His raven black hair swayed about him in the wind.

"He used to pull my ears from time to time when I answered his questions wrong. He doesn't do it now. Perhaps I've grown better?"

"Or bigger, finally." he suddenly grinned, tossing the cigarette butt to the side and reaching out a hand to my shoulder and playfully shoving me to the ground. I laughed even though my right cheek was pressed to the cold grass while he towered over me.

I thought it could remain that way, with my mother blissfully unaware.

How wrong was I?

In late February of 1914, two months after I turned eighteen, it was discovered. I honestly don't know how, but I had a feeling that Mister Bingham, the ex-ear puller, had something to do with it. Over time, Sebastian and myself had become careless. We walked together in view of the house and laughed together at our own bad jokes. Whatever it was, it came to my mother's ears.

"Ciel, is that you?" I heard her call one day from the drawing room as I passed it by while on my sneak some leftover sponge cake from the kitchen.

"Yes." I called back, slowing my walk.

"A moment, dear."

Was it normal to feel dread when your mother called for you?

As I crossed over to the bright room, I was conscious of my shoes clattering against the white marble floor.

I entered the warm room. The fireplace was lit and a soft orange glow reflected off the piano. Upon my entrance, she gracefully rose from her sofa and made her way over to me, "I'm going to feed the swans. You can join me if you like?" she offered with a small smile.

I doubt I had much of a choice.

She picked up a small white bowl of fresh brown bread left over from lunch, from the little table in the middle of the room. A log crackled and sizzled in the fireplace and I followed after her as she brushed past, going back the way I had just come. When we reached the terrace, she sneaked her cold, bare hand in the crook of my elbow for warmth.

"The evenings are beautiful in their own way, don't you think, Ciel? Cold, but beautiful."

I nodded but said nothing.

"It seems like such a perfect time to die. I believe I will die in the evening one day, just you wait and see."

And this was why I disliked spending time with my mother. She was difficult to talk to, always, either abstracted or else wanting more than what you could give. I hadn't noticed it when I was younger. To me, she, along with father, had been what made the world revolve around on its axis. But conversations between mother and I... well, there weren't many to speak of as I grew older. The atmosphere between us had grown unbelievably awkward as time went on.

As we walked, I averted my eyes to the hills, feeling that if I were to stretch a hand out, I would touch them. Some days, I believed them to be unsubstantial, pale, almost in a world of their own.

If only I had been able to get there by candlelight, I would most certainly never come back again, sir.

But one person held me to that place, and I had no intention of leaving him behind.

"Dead heads." she noted somewhat angrily and stopped. She removed her hands from my arm and proceeded to tear off the wilting flowers from their stems jutting out from the grass. She looked down at the handful of browned petals with distaste before dropping them in my pocket, "You can dispose of them later. That boy, Finnian, has been told many times over. Look there, see?"

I held my pocket open for more little rotting corpses.

She paused, "Apart from looking ugly, they stifle growth. There are boundaries... _reasons_ for everything, Ciel." she muttered quietly, looking at me with cold, dark blue eyes, "Those kind of people... Finnian, Bardroy, that clumsy good-for-nothing Meyrin, and _him..._ they are incapable of understanding that fact, even your... even your father is the same sometimes. I must exclude Tanaka from that list, however. He is a butler who knows his place."

By the time she had stopped talking, my throat had gone completely dry.

She took my arm again and we strolled on.

"Extremely careless." she muttered under her breath as her eyes glared downwards.

"I believe Finny rakes the paths quite nicely." I piped up, earning a sour look from herself.

"Ciel, _anyone_ can rake paths. By the way, how much time do you spend with _him_?"

She paused. It was a long, uneasy pause. My eyes shot to hers while she searched for dead heads on the rows of bushes that lines the pathway. Her form seemed to quiver with the cold and she held on to my arm tighter. Before she even finished her sentence, my heart had begun to thud rapidly.

"Do not play dumb with me, Ciel. Don't pretend you don't understand who I'm talking about. That servant, your father's one. What's his name... ? How much of your time...?"

I was blushing violently. I couldn't speak.

I heard an exasperated sigh coming from her and she snapped her fingers at my face, rather as if I were a dog.

"Ciel?" she questioned impatiently.

"Not... not much time." I whispered.

She neither looked at me nor spoke. She merely moved in front of me and I followed behind her in silence. The pebbles crunched under our shoes as we walked along. The rooks were making their usual late afternoon racket. I remember musing over the thought that if I were to be reborn again, I would choose to be a rook. They were dark creatures but majestic in their own way. They lead such joyful public lives up in the trees. They screeched without a care in the world and sometimes, I would see them soar up in to the air and disappear from sight. They seldom seemed to die.

Down by the lake, the swans were waiting. Often when Sebastian and I visited that place for a swim, they would make themselves scarce. They only seemed to appear when my mother arrived, along with food.

One had its beak burrowed in under its wings, as if it were scratching at an itch. The other had its long neck stretched out, ready and waiting.

I noticed how the hills looked very close and very clear. Rain was in the air, however, and I scowled at the thought.

Her fingers crumbled the bread angrily. She then held some out for the swans to take. Their heads dipped and rose again. I glanced down at their ugly, webbed feet that crushed the grass. She then threw the remnants of the bowl into the water and the birds splashed in after them. The swans were beautiful once more.

She wiped her fingers with a handkerchief and placed it back in her sleeve for safe keeping.

"What's his name again?"

I wondered why she was asking that, seeing as she knew full well what his name was. I then realised that she wanted to make me feel uncomfortable.

There was no point in pretending now, "Sebastian."

"Ah that's right." she laughed lightly, "Well, no more Sebastian. End to that. Yes."

I stared blankly ahead.

She took my arm again and leaned on me slightly to match my pace with hers. She walked ever so slowly, "You're not a child any longer, Ciel. You are a young man."

I chewed on the insides of my cheeks as the nerves began to build up inside me.

She glanced up at me and smiled, "But of course you must have known this without my telling you."

Her dress was a pale grey and matched the sky. The end of the skirt was gently kicked out in front of her as she walked.

"We thought it was about time for a little broadening of your education, Ciel. I believe that Mister Bingham has served his purpose. I think the time has come when... well, I must admit that I have always wanted to travel."

I could feel her eyes watching me carefully. I stared down at my feet that moved automatically back and forth with each step.

"They say travel broadens the mind." she continued on, "This is when real education starts. No more Mister Bignham. You are old enough now to be a good companion, I believe. You can take good care of me. I thought we might journey to Greece first. What do you think?"

Her eyes looked hopeful as she waited for my response.

" _We_?" I nearly croaked out, "You mean, you and I?" I tried to keep my face composed.

"Yes, darling." she replied with a small laugh, "Oh don't sound so alarmed, Ciel. Yes. You and I. Why not?"

"Greece?" I repeated hoarsely.

"It's a beautiful country, they say."

"Hm."

"Well?" she asked.

Her grip on my arm tightened.

"Well what?"

She huffed a sigh, "You are being so obtuse, Ciel. A lot like your father. Don't you think it's a splendid idea? It will allow us to catch up." she replied enthusiastically. Her fingers were biting into my arm at this point, like angry little teeth, "It's all arranged."

"Mother, supposing I said I didn't want to go?"

I winced as her nails dug through my coat and into my skin. I wonder if she was conscious of it. Something told me she was.

"But you won't, will you?"

She relaxed her hold then.

"No." I finally murmured, "I don't suppose I will."

She reached up a slender finger and caressed my cheek briefly, "That's settled then. I'm so happy. And you won't be off seeking that servant again, will you?"

I said nothing.

"You won't." she assured me. She seemed so sure of herself, "It just can't happen, darling. It's not... it's not proper. From now on, I forbid it. Absolutely."

I felt a sudden sting in my eyes.

We walked back along the path to the house in utter silence. When we reached the bottom of the steps, she turned to me, "We'll have so much fun." she smiled, petting my hair as if I were her pet dog. She then turned away from me and disappeared into the house.

I stood frozen for a moment, trying to process our one-sided conversation.

Fun?

I chuckled lowly, despite feeling like my world was about to be turned upside down.

The idea of 'fun' was not on her mind when she arranged it. She knew exactly what she was doing.

That evening after dinner, I was called into the drawing room. I suppose you could call it the central part of the house. My father sat opposite my mother in his sofa. I'm supposing that unconsciously, we had all claimed a sofa each. We never sat beside one another. My mother, of course, sat elegantly while reading her Edgar Allen Poe book. I presumed she was reading the poem "Annabel Lee". Her favorite. My father was reading a newspaper. Now that I think about, I forget what paper he reads. The name escapes me. Sebastian stood behind him, just a little off to the side, as stoic as ever. His face was emotionless and his lips were set in a firm line. His eyes stared coldly in front of him. I tried not to eye him for an explanation. I knew he could not talk, but a simple nod would have sufficed.

I warily sat down in my usual spot.

"There you are, Ciel." my father acknowledged, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

"Do make yourself comfy." suggested my mother, as if I were a guest in her home. It was still quite bright outside and I sat staring out the window as questions raced through my mind.

"Why don't you have a glass of port?" my father offered, glancing at the table and then back to his paper.

I blushed and shook my head.

"Are you lonely?"

"No, father. At least I don't believe I am."

"Good." he replied. His lips set into a firm smile and his eyes softened in understanding as they met mine.

Mother suddenly got up from her sofa and walked over to the piano and began to play softly. I'm guessing it was Chopin. I can't really remember. She was quite the avid fan of his.

"We..." he began, his voice fading as he glanced over at his wife. A look of sadness, and possibly contempt, filled his darkening eyes. His eyes then returned to mine and filled with that same soft, kindness they had possessed before, "We believe that it's time for you to stretch your wings a bit. It will be good for you to see a bit of the world."

I glanced warily in my mother's direction, then met his eyes once more, "So mother said."

"What do you think?"

We both looked on edge.

"I..." my voice faded as my eyes wandered over to Sebastian's unusually rigid form, "I haven't really had much time to..."

"Oh of course he approves, Vincent. What boy of his age wouldn't?"

My father frowned behind her back. If only it had been he and I in the room...

"I thought," he started, reaching out and placing his paper on the table, "that you could help me with the hunt next season."

"I'd like that." I gave him a small smile. I sought the company of my father more than my mother's, "Thank you."

"We'll have to see..." he began, but his sentence trailed off and he took in a deep breath, "If there's one thing I hate," he retorted, raising his voice so that she could hear him clearly, "it's music playing in the background when I'm trying to talk to my son."

She ignored him and continued playing. My mother had become somewhat ignorant of my father over the years. He leaned back, no doubt expecting that she would ignore him.

"In a year or so, I believe it will be time to tell you more of this house. I'm getting on you know, Ciel. I think it's about time that we get to know each other a little better."

The piano grew louder behind me.

I could feel my face stiffen in embarrassment. I nodded to him with a meek smile.

"I'll have to fill you in on the secrets of this family," he smiled, "when you get back, that is." he added reluctantly. He looked a little dubious as he glanced over at the piano, "Perhaps it will be best if you went away for a little while."

"But... isn't... isn't there trouble brewing in Europe?" I asked. Without actually looking at him, I could see Sebastian tense.

My mother took her fingers off the keys and a low hum lingered in the room.

"Well, what I mean is... if there's going to be a war, is it really wise to go travelling? I don't know for certain but... I was just wondering."

My mother laughed. Her laughter had always been so charming. It rung around the room like bells chiming and tittering.

"Wherever did you hear that?" she asked of me as she swiveled on the stool and walked back to her sofa.

"There are tensions, yes." said my father, "But I have no doubt in my mind that they will be ironed out."

"But what I want to know is _where_ you heard such a stupid notion." she questioned, "Where did you hear it, Ciel? I'd like to know."

I made sure to not to look in Sebastian's direction.

"I believe it's in the papers." my father answered for me quickly, "The international section. Those countries are just power seekers, along with Britain. When I am done with this, you may read it, if you wish. It's hard to believe, isn't it?"

I glanced at the paper on the table, eyeing the headline.

My father looked over at me. His eyes held something. At the time, I wasn't sure of what it was. But I realise now that he had been warning me, "We seem so remote here and protected."

"Oh Vincent." she sighed, picking up her book and reading from where she had left off, "I'll admit that you do become quite boring when you talk about nothing like that. And _you_."

I glanced upwards to meet my mother's fiery gaze.

Her tone had suddenly demanded my attention, "To whom do you speak of such things?"

I could feel my mouth open and close, much like a fish.

No matter how she tried to hide it, I knew she was thinking of Sebastian. I could how she glanced over at him. She wasn't being subtle, "Is it the servants?" she asked then, and the edges of her lips curled upwards, as if amused to find me uncomfortable. It was like her own little personal game she played for her amusement.

"No."

"Then who?" she demanded.

"People."

"Oh be more specific, child." she demanded. She drew her lips together tightly before she flat out stared at Sebastian. I could see him gulp by the way his Adam's apple bobbed. Her eyes then slowly met mine and her right brow rose in a silent question. She waited somewhat impatiently for an answer.

I figured it wise not to anger her further by refusing to answer her question which she already knew the answer to. She would only reprimand him. My father put his foot down when it came to the servants, especially Sebastian. He was going nowhere, even if she demanded it, "Perhaps." I answered.

I saw her shoulders rise and fall as she looked me in the eye intently, "What does he know about anything?"

She had quite clearly excluded my father at this point.

I could see my father's tired eyes glance back and forth between us through his bangs.

"He may not know as much as you," I replied, but truthfully, I believed Sebastian knew a lot more than she ever would, "but he knows a lot more than I do."

"We talked about this. You are _never_ to talk to him again. Do you understand?"

I caught Sebastian's eyes narrowing and I could tell he was angry, but he hid. What kind of butler would he be is he lost his cool?

My father pursed his lips and his eyes flashed back to mine through his dark fringe. His look was one of sympathy. Perhaps he knew of our friendship all along...

I could only imagine how uncomfortable Sebastian had felt at that very moment.

My father then acted as if he hadn't a breeze of whom she were referring to. I'll admit that we may not have shared as close a relationship as we would have liked, but we were on the same wavelength. He knew what mother was like. In his own way, he was helping me by feigning ignorance.

"I understand what you're saying, mother, but truly I don't understand _why_."

My father's eyes never left my own.

"Just accept my judgement then." she replied haughtily. She waved me off with a light flick of her hand.

"I can't do that." I blurted out, refusing to have my opinion overlooked by her, "I just can't." I clenched my teeth as she got up and walked over to the window.

"Vincent." came my mother's harsh tone.

My father sighed. His look was apologetic then, "Ciel..."

I began to shake my head at him, pleading silently with him to stand up for me on this. 

 _Please_ , I mouthed to him.

"In a way," he started, averting his eyes from my own, "your mother is right."

I shut my eyes tightly. I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up.

"Whoever this person is," he said hesitantly, glancing to his left to find Sebastian at his side, "I'm sure it's an unsuitable relationship."

"In  _every_  way." my mother added.

From my peripheral vision, I could see Sebastian's jaw clench angrily.

"I wouldn't quite say that." my father spoke, sending my mother a look I couldn't decipher at the time, "It's a sad fact though, Ciel, that one has to accept while still young. The responsibilities and limitations of the class of which you were born into... they have to be accepted, even by you. But think of the advantages. Once you think of them, then the rest will follow." my father's gaze softened and searched my eyes, as if looking for forgiveness.

My mother tutted, "Nothing." she began, "You go on and on about nothing, Vincent. You're always the same..."

And they wondered how I had become so reclusive...


	6. Our moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things slowly begin to pick up their pace in this chapter.
> 
> Thanks you all for reading this! It means a lot that you'd even click on this story in the first place!

We went to Europe. Italy first. We examined churches and fine art galleries until my feet, eyes and mind ached. The sun baked everything in sight. We ate strange and sometimes delicious meals under dim awnings and conversed with people as charming and detached as ourselves. I have acquired a whole catalogue of new words, sounds, smells and sensations. I guess I have all that to thank her for. But we never reached Greece like she had planned. We were supposed to go for the whole of summer, but she had "fallen ill". We only managed to visit Italy and France. 

When we arrived back mid-April, the trees were lush with bright green leaves of all shades, nothing like when we had left. I could see the violent shivers coursing through my mother as she stepped out of the motor, whereas I felt nothing but joy to be back home amongst the hills and lake. I remember smiling at the damp air and the sky that filtered out the sun. Then I looked to the house and my smile fell.

Yes, so much for broadening the mind.

During our one and a half months absence, my father had become a much smaller man. I don't mean physically, but something in him did not seem quite right as he shook my hand and welcomed us back. His face was awfully pale. I had wondered if he were sick. He assured me that he wasn't when I asked him the day after we got back. I was not convinced but I didn't press him any further on the subject.

No longer did I spend my days listening to Mister Bingham. I remember his last day teaching me. I had waved with a smug grin when it was time for him to finally leave and never come back. He looked back at me as if he wanted to throttle me. I never did like that man. I guessed that his teaching me was his only source of income. When that thought popped into my head, my smirk had grown wider.

I then spent the rest of April with my father and his land steward. He had bought me a new chestnut mare seeing as my skills at horse riding had apparently improved. They hadn't of course, even if the incredibly skilled Sebastian was my instructor. She was a mad thing and quivered when I caressed her strong neck tentatively. Her big brown eyes darted about manically.

"Ah..." was all I could say.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Finnian, the gardener, asked with the most genuine smile I had seen in a long time. He also took on the role as groom occasionally. He gazed at the horse with wide, adoring eyes, "The master paid a high price for her, so he did. He was right to do so. She's lovely."

"Ah."

I decided there and then to call her Morrigan-Bree.

"Well I think it's quite a strange and dare I say, ugly name." my mother commented as we sat to dinner that night. She was always one to voice her opinions.

"The wine, please, son."

I reached out for the bottle and passed it to him. I remember catching his hand shake as he took it from me.

"Did you invent it or have you heard it from somewhere?" she inquired while watching my father pour the dark, red liquid into his glass with a little difficulty. He was lucky he was able to control the trembling enough so that the wine did not splash onto the white table cloth. Concern washed over me. I wanted to say something, but not in front of her.

"I chose Morrigan... because it was the name of a famous witch, and Bree because it means strength."

"How interesting." she stated tiresomely as she took a sip of her own wine, "You mean like Morgan le Fay?"

"Something like that, yes."

Only then did it come to my attention that Sebastian was not in his usual place behind my father. My father seemed to read my mind and he shook his head ever so slightly so as not to catch my mother's attention. I narrowed my eyes just the tiniest bit to silently voice my curiosity as to where Sebastian might be. He shook his head again and proceeded to focus his attention back on the plate in front of him. I did the same.

"Must be an Irish witch, with a name like."

"She was indeed Irish." I replied over to her, "She could morph herself into other creatures. I believe that horse is her newest shape to date..."

"Oh Ciel, you are absurd."

I could feel my right eye twitch as I merely plastered on a small smile, "Father," I said, turning my attention to him, "Have you looked into her eyes?"

He nodded as he swallowed his food, "Yes I have. I take it you are pleased with her?"

A small smile graced my lips as his eyes searched mine, perhaps searching for what could not be said out loud.

My father was at least trying now, unlike her. I decided to placate him, "As pleased as I have been with anything, along with Eloy."

It was a lie. I regret that it was a lie. The horse was indeed beautiful, but not something I could truly value.

"Good, my son, good."

My mother placed, or should I say, _tossed_  her knife and fork down with a clatter on her plate and we both glanced over to see her staring back at us both with an incredulous glare, "Honestly. You astound me, both of you. Ciel and I spend a nearly two months in Europe, _two month_ , and all you both want to do is discuss a horse's eyes."

"Well," began my father, placing his palms flat on the table cloth. His eyes were filled with false enthusiasm, "What would you prefer us to talk about?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she eyed him with contempt. She said nothing.

I had blushed and looked down at the sparkling silverware that had been neatly placed around my plate.

"You know, I am not as uncultivated as you seem to think." he spoke over to her coldly. He leaned forward a little from the spine of his chair, "I was merely asking  _my_  son if he was pleased with his gift."

Her silence filled the room. After that, me and my father carried on to have a forgettable conversation. I wish I could remember it. I know that our words had been constrained, as if groping their way through thick fog from one speaker to the other.

Sebastian was, to my relief, still in my father's service, as I knew he would be. He was given the task of training Morrigan-Bree so as to be suitable to be ridden by someone such as myself. He surprisingly had her trained in no time. He admitted to me that he had never been given a task such as training a horse before. I believe my father had given it to him because he knew Sebastian was well capable of pulling it off.

I had not seen Sebastian since before leaving for Europe. I held out my hand to him just as he was passing by to bring the horse back to her stable. He paused a moment before hesitantly taking my hand in his without looking at me.

My face fell as he looked anywhere but my face.

Quickly composing myself, I gave his hand a gentle shake, "Congratulations, Sebastian." I smiled, but I felt the corners of my mouth frown with growing worry, "You did it."

His hand was ice-cold. He had not been wearing his gloves.

"Thank you, sir." he replied quietly.

"She's turned out well. More than well, I should say." I pressed, searching for more of a reaction.

He answered with a curt nod of his head.

"Splendid in fact." I carried on, hoping desperately with each passing second that he would at least look me in the eye.

His lips curled up into a half-smile.

"I'm quite happy with the results too."

And with that, his eyes met mine, and the most audible sigh of relief escaped me. I couldn't help but feel happy at that moment, and I am sure it had shown on my face.

"You should be proud." I told him. Oddly enough, I had suddenly felt quite giddy.

"I am." he replied, his smile widening as he watched me stifle my sudden laughter. His eyes seemed to bore into mine as he released a small, breathless laugh of his own.

True friendship... Love, perhaps?

I hadn't quite understood at the time, but that's the only way I can really describe it. It was different somehow. I'll always remember that as our moment.

"Good." I smiled, breathing quite heavily now as if I were recovering from running. I found myself suddenly lost in those maroon eyes of his, "Sebastian..." I reached my hand out for him once more, but my mother placed her hand firmly down on my arm. Her fingers clamped themselves around it and pulled it back to her side.

"Ciel, dear," she whispered, just loud enough so the butler could hear, "we must be going. I find this breeze too much to bear." she nodded ever so briefly to Sebastian before tugging on my arm and pulling me with her. I glanced back at him one last time to find him doing the same. With one last impatient tug on my arm courtesy of my mother, I reluctantly turned my eyes away from him. Out from the corner of my eyes, I could see that my mother's face was pale white from both the chill of the day and anger.

"I am most displeased." she muttered harshly.

She said nothing else until we got back to the steps leading up to the pantry.

"There's something about him, Ciel."

"About who?" I mentally slapped myself.

"What do you mean 'who'? You know exactly who I'm talking about." she answered rapidly, "That servant of your father's. That  _butler_. The one who looks like he converses with the Devil and all his minions."

"I'm sorry, mother, but that's nonsense."

"Oh is it? You never know with those sort of people. Why, by just looking at him, even I can see there's something dark about him."

"His hair perhaps?" I suggested lightly.

She didn't seem to find me humourous judging my the look she granted me.

Even now, I wonder if I have been unfair to my mother. I have never been able to understand her motives. I have never really known any other woman so I can't compare her to others. There was Meyrin, but that's hardly fair comparing a maid to a countess. Of course there was Elizabeth and aunt Francis, but they lived in world all of their own. People were drawn to my mother because of her beauty, but it was only a thin shell which served as a cover. People never saw the black, seething rage that constantly consumed her. My mother had been so different when I was a young child. I don't know if she had been different, or if my childish senses hadn't picked up on the reality. She loved to play the piano, yet it always made me uneasy. She played with underlying anger. I would always get up and leave when the opportunity arose. I preferred to listen from a safe distance.

I think she loved me, but wanted more from me of which I had no comprehension or understanding.

As the month of May passed by, it angered her to see that my father and I had become close. He had begun to seek my company rather than hide away in his office doing paperwork. He had often held off on work just so we could go for walks in the gardens and talk about current affairs such as the tensions in Europe. I had rather enjoyed those moments when it had just been us two. No mother there to upset the atmosphere. No snide remarks. Just father and son.

I can't help but smile to myself as I think back. They had been good times, but I soon learned that with good times comes the bad, no matter how much you try to avoid them.


	7. The war had begun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The war begins!
> 
> Hope you're all enjoying this so far and I hope you all like this chapter!

To be honest, my father and I paid little attention to the inevitable war at first. We talked of it, but we discussed it as if we were discussing tennis scores. Belgium and Flanders seemed so far away from us. Our own fields were ripe and firm under our feet that neither of us felt the need to care for anything else. We were nobles after all. It wasn't really our place to worry about it.

It was August and the earth was temporarily coloured white with mist and dew. A few familiar faces disappeared. Many of the young servants left our service to join the army. Bardroy and a few others. I realise now why my father had tried his best to persuade them not to leave. I am sure they are all gone now too.

The war had begun.

The war covered the front pages of newspapers that were brought from London by train. My father would only read a sentence or two before casting the newspaper down on the dining table with a rough sigh, "Fools." he muttered. He got up from his chair at the head of the table and made his way over to the window with his hands clasped behind his back as if he were taking a leisurely stroll through the gardens. My mother clicked her fingers at me to pick up the newspaper. I passed it to her.

My mother bent forward, frowning at the paper as she read the headline with care.

"They are food for cannons." my father commented harshly.

He did not look back at us as he spoke. He merely shouted the five words into the empty hall while he stormed towards the door and banged it shut behind him. My mother sat with a slight smile on her face, as if trying to contain her amusement. I eyed the paper in her hands.

The war had begun.

My poor father. He seemed to age terribly after this. Not in looks, but in mind. I found that as August crept by, he had took to drinking. He was drinking more than was good for him. He retired almost completely into the mysterious tower of his own mind and it was a difficulty every time to cross the moat which he had seemed to build around himself to keep us out. Or maybe her.

We sat one evening in the drawing-room. I believe it had been mid September. The weather had been horrible. I remember the wind howling miserably outside as we all sat in our usual places, except my mother. The room had been toasty warm with the fire roaring with life behind me. Yet even though the room was warm, delightfully warm, I can't possibly say the same for the atmosphere between us.

"James Percy has been killed and only a month enlisted. That was pretty quick."

I could hear the silk of my mother's dress softly moving as she walked around the room. My father's face had been unusually pale, even in the glow of the fire.

James Percy.

Ah yes. Poor Percy. He had been the boy my age who lived on the estate. Actually, he was younger than myself, only by a few months, but he was taller. His mother was a maid in our service. He was one of the two children my parents, my mother truthfully, had forbidden me to speak to all those years ago. I realise now why my father had tried to persuade him to stay rather than fight. But it was impossible to move the lad. Once he set his mind on something, it was set in stone. He had believed it was his duty to fight, and that as a child of Britian, he would be shamed if he cowered and refused to help his country. I could tell he was a sore loss, and my father was feeling the weight of it. It was evident in his tired eyes. You see, my father was secretly very much like myself. He saw through class and status. They were my mother's values, not ours. But there were other reasons why my father took badly to the news. 

"Flanders." she said one day. She sounded like she was deep in thought, "It seems so far away yet so close, does it not?" she pondered, stretching out her hands towards the fire. The diamonds on her fingers glittered, lighting the ceiling and walls with flashes of white, sparkling light.

My father's eyes seemed to bore into my mother's back until he slowly leaned forward and picked up the decanter and filled three glasses.

"Damned fools." was all he could say.

"I was there when the telegram arrived. Yes, I think I remember him." she said with an offhanded gesture, yet there was something in her tone that didn't seem right.

"Such a waste." my father stated as he stared blankly before him.

"Yes..." I whispered in agreement, running the pad of my thumb along the pale material of the couch.

My mother turned her strangely excited eyes towards me as she took the glass that was offered to her. We drank our sherry in complete silence, except for my father's heavy breathing. He was flexing his fingers and I heard his knuckles crack. My mother was either completely oblivious or she purposely feigned ignorance.

"You know, Vincent." she started suddenly. My eyes darted to my father, watching his expression. He was clenching his jaw, ready for the oncoming verbal attack, "You're growing old. I've been noticing it lately. Are you ill, perhaps? Maybe you should see a doctor?"

"There's little a doctor could do for my situation." he replied. His voice was low as he spoke. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.

One small breathless laugh escaped her lips, "Or perhaps it is just age then, yes?"

"Possibly." he answered, "I'm not as young as I used to be. But I don't think that is the real problem."

I swallowed thickly as the atmosphere in the room grew chilly. I decided to lock my gaze on the leg of the table closest to me. I don't know why. It wasn't interesting. But I felt compelled to look anywhere other than my parents.

"I notice that you take a stick with you when you go walking outside."

He acknowledged this observation with a slight bow of his head.

"You will have to get yourself into shape again." she informed, taking a small sip of her sherry, "When Ciel goes off to war, you won't have him to rely on as you do now." she finished with a charming smile.

I glanced up at my father, the smallest laugh escaping me. He stared back, and suddenly we both began to laugh. There was no real amusement in his eyes, however. After a few short moments, she joined in. We sat about the fireplace with our glasses in our hands, like three happy people laughing. The door opened and Sebastian stepped in gracefully, bowing curtly towards us, "Dinner is served, my Lord."

After finishing our meal, we remained at the dining table. Dinner had been eaten almost in complete silence. Only when the maids were in the room had any of us tried to make conversation. This little unspoken deal of attempting normalcy, of some sort, between us was forgotten when Sebastian was in the room. There was no point in pretending. He knew everything. I remember feeling uneasy. I had shifted in my chair uncomfortably while my mother peeled her pear with delicate strokes of a knife. The dining room was more beautiful during the night than in the day. Even with the warmth radiating from the fireplace, the room still seemed chilly. Chilly but oddly beautiful. Maybe it was the colour scheme... Comfortable meals and uncomfortable talk are always in my mind when I think of that room. The knife she held between her fingers had been silver, the handle ornately curlicued.

I've never liked pears.

"Vincent, why did you laugh?" she asked him as she slid a piece of pear past her lips.

"It's quite obvious." he replied, "Your remark was laughable."

I rose from my seat, "If I may be excused, fa-"

"Sit down." she commanded. She sounded irritated.

I sat down.

"I wasn't making a joke, Vincent."

"Mother..."

He interrupted me, "If you were not making a joke," he began, nearly hissing as the sound of his right elbow hit off the table with a 'thud' as he leaned forward, his index finger half pointing at her in a somewhat accusing manner, "then like everyone else, you have taken leave of your senses."

"Ah, ah." she replied, rather as if she were scolding a three year old, "Oh no, Vincent." she looked up from her work slicing the pear, "He has to go."

"Sebastian, some more wine, please." my father ordered, leaning back in his chair with his fists clenched on the table.

Sebastian stepped forward, the bottle of old, expensive wine already in his gloved hands. He filled my father's wine glass far too much for my liking. My father didn't seem to mind.

"Thank you, Sebastian."

The butler replied with a curt bow of his head. He stepped back away from the table.

"Rachel, am I right to believe that yesterday, you were quite unaware of the existence of the war... No. I beg your pardon, you were indifferent to its existence, and now because... now because an unfortunate young man has been killed, you wish to pack off Ciel. What on earth is possessing you?"

"Oh, Vincent. It is his duty to fight."

He laughed at her, but his eyes flashed dangerously, "His duty to fight, is it? Nobles do _not_  fight."

" _He_ will." she shot back.

"That is  _his_  decision."

My mother's eyes glanced over and met my own. She smiled that small smile and I gulped in response.

" _He_ has no choice." she replied to my father.

" _Here_  he has a choice."

"Oh come now, Vincent. It's a moral duty, if nothing else. Why should all the others go, and he not?"

My father stared at her as if she had gone completely mad.

He abruptly stood up.

"I refuse to argue. I have work to see to. Please excuse me, son."

He moved towards the door, speaking as he went in an agitated voice that I had never heard before. He was angry.  _Very_  angry.

I watched him leave, wishing that I could have done so too.

"I have given you everything you have ever wanted, Rachel. Everything. Remember that. Ponder deeply before you take away my son. I say no, and it shall stay that way. No."

"That's right. Go see to your work." she called after him with a slight sneer, "Old man." she hissed under her breath.

He left us.

Sebastian had quickly excused himself, but not before sending me a wary glance.

My mother finished her pear in silence. There was an amused gleam in her eyes.

Did I mention that I hated pears?

She wiped at her mouth delicately with a napkin and got up from her seat. She sauntered up behind me and wrapped her arms loosely around my neck, pulling my head back to gently rest against her chest. Her fingers stroked at my hair before she pulled back my fringe from my forehead and kissed me.

"My boy. My dear, sweet boy."

I can truly say that I hated her.

With one last kiss, she let my hair flop back into its original position. She stepped away and left me in the dining room. I was alone, but I'm positive that I had heard laughter like chiming bells floating back to me from the hallway in which she had disappeared into.

My father had then called me into his study as I was passing by. He had moved his chair from behind his desk to sit in front of the fire. I'm guessing Sebastian did that for him. It was a dark room, a room full of shadows. He was currently glaring at the fire with a glass of brandy in his hand. I slid down to sit on the floor in front of the couch that was situated a bit further back from the fire than his own chair. We sat like that for a long time. His face was more vulnerable to the heat than mine. I could hear him. He was breathing heavily. I could hear the wood in the fire pop and crackle and the way the living shadows stirred about the room, as if watching us.

"Brandy?" he asked eventually.

"No."

He raised his glass and drank from it, "Perhaps the next world will make more sense than this one."

I swear that somewhere, someone sighed. It was not my father and it certainly was not I. Under the circumstances, it was not very comforting.

"I must say," he continued, "your mother is quite an admirable woman."

"Perhaps I will have that drink."

My father's lips curled into a smirk as he got up from his chair and placed his glass down in order to pour me a glass.

I half expected that I would have to get it myself.

"Here you go." he said, handing me the glass. I sniffed at the strange coloured liquid. The smell of it was vile. He sat back down in his chair, brandy in hand, "Ciel, I hope you never experience the humiliation of living with someone who is completely indifferent to you." he sighed, taking a sip of his drink, "Now I know she hates me. I don't expect you to understand."

"I'm sure she doesn't..." I trailed off, realising that I was interfering.

"Forgive me, son. You look alarmed." he noted. The gentle smile never left his lips.

"Well... I suppose I am, in a way."

"Ah, my boy, you must not be alarmed when others speak. We have all been too well trained in behaviour. My back is giving me some trouble..."

"Father, the doctor..." I suggested tentatively.

He laughed. I frowned.

"Why do you say she hates you?" I asked.

"Ciel, you don't honestly believe that she is packing you off to war for serious patriotic reasons, do you?"

"I'm not sure. But I won't be going anyway." I answered.

He laughed again. He seemed to think that I was funny.

"Ah, my son, you'll go. You're a coward," -  _in her presence -_  "so you'll go."

"More reason to stay, surely?"

He silently laughed to himself while shaking his head ever so slightly, "You'll go."

"They say it will be over by Christmas..."

"They're never over by Christmas." he whispered, finishing off his brandy.

"Father, I'm not going anywhere."

He continued to laugh at me while I sat in front of him, completely exasperated.

At the time, I refused to believe him. The man in front of me, with the shadows coiling about him... what I considered nonsense spouting from his lips, was in fact truth. I was a coward. I didn't like to believe it, but I was. I could only hope that I would not run into my mother any time soon.


	8. War and cheesecake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of weird chapter but I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Enjoy lovelies!

I left him sitting there. He had scooted his chair a little closer to the fire and held one hand out to it so his hand was between himself and the glowing flames. I heard his muffled voice behind the closed door as I walked away down the hall. He had already begun to speak to the shadows... He seemed to do that a lot while on his own.

My head was fogged with confusion and brandy. I know now that I should have gone out into the cool night air to clear my thoughts. It had been silent. I remember standing in the middle of the hallway, holding my head to steady myself. I was not drunk. Far from it. I was certainly not drunk enough. I knew that much.

There was no sound from the piano. I had presumed that she had gone to her room for the night. I hoped for that. I remember from when I was just a toddler that she would sit in the cushioned alcove by the window in her room and brush her hair gently from the roots to the very ends in slow, prolonged strokes. It took time, but I guess she had all the time in the world.

"What did he say?"

I was half way up the staircase when her voice reached me from inside my bedroom. My room was a little ways down the corridor. I was surprised that she heard me, seeing as I was doing my best not to make a sound. I suppressed a sigh. I ran my hand along the polished banisters, surprised to find that it gleamed to perfection. I thought that Meyrin must have had her eyes recently checked, but then soon came to my senses. I realised that Sebastian would have had something to do with the spotless shine that I ran my hand along. I remember smiling at that. The other servants were all incompetent. Even so, they were essential to the house, security being another reason.

I rounded the corner and saw the glow of the fire reflect on the wall opposite my bedroom door. It was slightly ajar and warmth resonated from within. The light from the chandelier above the stairs flickered behind me, barely penetrating the passageway. I hesitantly reached a hand out to the doorknob, and stepped into the room. She was sitting in my armchair by the fire, still dressed as she had been for dinner. She glanced over at me, eyes sparkling.

"Well?"

I took in a breath and carefully shut the door behind me until I heard a soft 'click'.

"He was only talking, mother. This and that."

She slowly got up from the chair and walked over to the drapes and pulled them back. I watched her as she opened the window, letting in the cold night air. It was a little counterproductive, seeing as I wanted the room warm. The fresh smell blew past her, and somewhere, over the hills I imagined, I could hear very faintly the sound of an old English fiddle being played.

"I have the feeling that you're going to become just like him, Ciel."

Her charming voice was blown back to me by the wind.

"Ever since we got back from Europe... I've been seeing this in you all the time. It's been creeping over you, surrounding you like... like a disease." I remember wriggling my nose at that, "I had hoped, darling, that when you grew up, I would not have to be alone anymore."

Her eyes were full of sorrow when she glanced back at me, but quickly narrowed when she noticed my hardened features.

"I'm sorry that I have been... inadequate." I responded.

"Have you been drinking with him?"

I nodded slowly, "Yes."

Her lips curled upwards into a tight smile, "Yes, I do believe that inadequate is the right word."

She walked back to me and took my left hand in hers.

"Ciel... I... I don't mean to be unkind. I am sure that under other circumstances he would have been a more adequate man. I... I cannot bear to think that you... You will go, won't you?"

I tried to retrieve my hand, but she held it firmly and showed no sign of letting it go.

"Mother, I don't..."

"It would mean a _lot_ to me, Ciel."

" _I_ don't want to. I don't believe that I have the right to shoot people for a cause I neither understand nor care about."

Of course I had every right to shoot whoever I wanted to. I was a Phantomhive, the Queen's future watchdog. It was part of the job to shoot down people on the "bad side".

"Well..."

"Well, yes. I'm sorry, but I find it rather hard to express myself." I muttered, making a face as the taste of brandy swarmed my senses. 

"But _I_ care, Ciel." she cooed, caressing my cheek softly, " _I_ understand. Is that not enough for you?"

I recall standing there in front of her, not having the nerve to tell her that I didn't believe a word she was saying.

"I don't feel like being killed either... or even slightly wounded for that matter." I replied back as her soft hand fell from my cheek, "The thought of it doesn't appeal to me in the slightest."

She let out a small laugh, "Oh but why should you be killed?"

"James Percy was."

She fell silent. A draft through the room sent a shiver down my spine and I trembled with it. She intertwined her nimble fingers, her eyes distant. Her lips moved to say something, but not a sound came out. It took her a few long moments to jolt back into reality.

"You are a coward." she whispered sternly.

I wasn't going to argue with that one. I knew I was already.

"Well I must be, seeing as you said I am. It's not exactly a very nice word."

"Cowards are not nice people." she retorted.

Her eyes were cold. I stared back at her evenly.

"Mother, I think that if we are not careful, we'll say a lot of things that we will both regret. I don't want to go. Hence, I will not be going."

I turned to walk away, but her eyes widened significantly, catching me off guard. She looked like she was about to laugh... or lose it. One way or another, she commanded my attention, "What about for duty?" she scoffed, "Love or obedience, Ciel?"

I shook my head, "The answer is still no."

There was a light knock on the door and Sebastian's charming voice sounded from behind it, "Sir, may I come in?"

_Idiot._

Did he not hear us in here? Did he not hear  _her_?

My mother glanced to the door and then back at me, her eyes expectant. Her lips were curved into a slight, wicked smirk.

"Well? Aren't you going to invite him in, Ciel?"

I tried not to glare at her.

In all honesty, I didn't want them in the same room.

She tutted, "I'll let him in. I'm going now anyway. Goodnight, darling."

I tried to lean away as her hands cupped my cheeks and she placed a delicate kiss on my forehead.

With one last stroke of her thumb on my blushing cheek, she walked to the door and grasped the doorknob. I could see her grinning behind her locks of golden hair, "You _will_ go, Ciel." she whispered, and with that, she turned her little hand and pulled back the door.

He held a sparkling tray of treats and tea in one hand while the other gloved hand was perched in front of him, as if he were just about knock again. His face was quite a picture. I can only presume that she smiled at him sweetly. It was her specialty. She was always an exquisite actress when in the company of others. Especially in front of those she disliked the most.

"Oh, Sebastian." she greeted, as if his presence had taken her by surprise. And there goes the change in voice, "There you are. I see you brought Ciel some dessert, yes?" she asked lightly, leaning up on her toes and taking a look at the treats, "But isn't it a little late for all that though? Oh, no matter." she laughed charmingly, "Well I must be off. Goodnight Ciel..." she smiled back at me, her eyes grinning. She turned her attention back to the confused butler, "Sebastian." she nodded her head ever so slightly to bid him goodnight. He did so too, bowing with a "Goodnight, my lady."

If one didn't know any better, they would surely believe she had two minds. I'm actually surprised she acknowledged him.

She made her way past the able butler and left us.

We waited silently until her footfalls ceased before either of us moved. Sebastian was the first to talk.

"Are you alright, sir?"

There was honestly no need for the formalities.

"Don't call me that." I ordered with a wave of my hand. I turned my back to him and wandered over to the bed and practically fell onto it. Dealing with my mother could be tiresome.

"I have brought you a slice of white chocolate cheesecake accompanied by a variety of berries and freshly whipped cream, along with some sweetened tea."

I remember my head perking up at that. I had always been one for sweets, especially Sebastian's sweets. Bardroy couldn't bake to save his life. 

"Would you care to have some?"

My body had felt so heavy when I pushed myself off the bed. I felt weak. Maybe that was the effect a mother like mine could have on a person. My eyelids were drooping as I forced my way over to the armchair in front of the fire, nodding my head as I did so.

"Oh dear." he said with a sigh, following me over to the fireplace.

I fell backwards onto the chair, letting out a breath as I nuzzled back into the warmth.

When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see a fork in front of my mouth with a small cube of cake and cream on it, "What are you doing?" I asked him, startled when the fork moved closer to my mouth.

Hopefully he thought the fire was what caused the sudden red hue in my cheeks.

"It seems you cannot feed yourself. Just look at you. You're as fragile as a piece of china. Open wide now. Say 'aaah' for me."

I haughtily crossed my arms over my chest, "You must be joking, Seba-"

Before I could pull back, he shoved the fork into my mouth, consequently blotting fluffy cream over my lips and down my chin, to eventually plop onto my shirt.

"Sometimes I question your age." he tutted, pulling out a crisp, white handkerchief from his breast pocket. He proceeded to gently dab at my lips and chin with it, all the while I sat frozen, unable to comprehend the will to move. Heh... It's strange how that one little gesture had sent my heart into a frenzy, "And look what you have done to your- Oh honestly."

I watched, gobsmacked, as he pulled at the material of my trousers and wiped them clean in achingly long strokes.

"Wha- Look what  _I've_  done?" I questioned incredulously, suddenly remembering how to speak, "It's not  _my_  fault, you imbecile."

"If you were not so weak then you would not be in this state." he pointed out, his eyes looking up at me through his black locks.

"Excuse me?" I demanded. I'm sure my eyes were blazing at that point.

He smiled at me. It was his quirky signature smirk. Of course. I should have known. I was his constant source of amusement, "Surely you must know of that aspect of yourself by now."

"I'm not weak." I spat at him, leaning back.

"Really?"

I decided not to answer him. Instead, I allowed the silence to linger between us. And so, I sat before the fire and I, reluctantly, allowed him to feed me the stupid, tasty dessert. "Open wide." he would say, as if enticing a small stubborn child to eat its dinner.

"Would you look at that. The moon has already risen." he noted absently, looking up at the crescent moon, like that of a Cheshire cat's grin, through the window after I had finished my dessert, "It is not good for your health to be up at this hour. You should sleep now."

I agreed and after minutes upon minutes of refusing his help, I eventually submitted and allowed him to change me into my nightclothes. He too, was stubborn when he wanted to be.

After bidding me a goodnight, he granted me one last smile before leaving my company. I heard the door close over with a soft 'click' and listened as his shoes tapped with each stride down the hallway.

My last coherent thought before I drifted off into a cold, dark sleep was that I would have to settle the disagreement between my mother and I. But that could wait till the next day. First, I was going to figure out how to get out of the damn blankets he had wrapped me so tight up in. As "snug as a bug in a rug", huh, Sebastian? I was more than that; I felt like a piece of meat in Diedrich's squashed sandwiches.


	9. Down Will Come Baby, Cradle And All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insight is offered into the past of Rachel and Vincent. Ciel decides to go on a midnight stroll, only to bump into a certain butler.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this update!

_"Do you really think I wanted to stay here all these years? Do you think I would have stayed if it wasn't for you, Ciel?"_

Her words echo in my mind, like a woman stressing her anguish in a deep, dark, unforgiving cave. It reverberates, causing the cave's wall to tremble and collapse.

"Mother," I had said, "that has absolutely nothing to do with this."

She glared, long and hard, enough to make me take a step back, "It's only a small sacrifice, Ciel. I... I could have had a life." she exclaimed. Her eyes flared with frustration as she watched me by the fireplace.

My right hand was placed on the marble mantelpiece. My fingers clenched around the smooth edge. It was warm, thanks to the heat of the glorious fire. I swallowed thickly, "I'm sorry." I didn't meet her eyes. I _couldn't_ , for my own eyes had taken too much interest in anything but her.

I did not want to apologise. I had nothing to apologise for. At the time, I felt like I had no other option but to say that I was sorry, even though it was for that which was out of my control.

" _Sorry_." she muttered sarcastically, which I'm guessing she hadn't wanted me to hear, or maybe she did?, "I only want you to do this one thing for me.  _One_  thing. All the other young men have gone to fight."

"As father would say," I countered, "they are fools."

"They could be heroes." she retorted.

"I don't think so... But isn't it better to have a live coward for a son rather than a dead hero?"

I laughed, or at least tried to.

"I think you're going to become cynical, just like him." she laughed and placed her hand lightly over her mouth, as if just realising something highly amusing,"I can see it now. You grow more and more like him with each passing day. Your turn of phrase, mannerisms... freakish ways of using your mind. It is like a sponge. It absorbs everything. You _watch_ and you _copy_. _That's_ what you do." she accused while sweet laughter chimed around me.

I stood silently and said nothing.

What was I to say?

"Ciel..." she whispered sadly after a few moments of silence. Her soft voice floated about the room while the fire roared in the hearth. My heart felt like it was going to leap out from of my chest at any moment. I recall a stinging sensation in the tips of my fingers from where I had clamped them down around the edge of the mantelpiece a little too hard, "I know that you're my only son.  _Our_ only son. But... that was not always going to be the case... I... I believe that you are old enough now to know... that you were not always going to be our only child..."

It pains me when I think about what she told me. I had never seen that side of my mother, the somewhat kind, emotional person who had been hiding behind a curtain, like an actress too afraid to step out on the stage. A person too unsure, too reluctant to speak out in fear of disrupting the social norms.

She gently took my hand in hers and led me to the couch were freshly brewed tea awaited us on the ornate table.

We both sat, while I awkwardly stared out the window that was slightly ajar. Again I could hear the sounds of an old English fiddle. It was very faint though.

She seemed hesitant to talk. I watched her from the corner of my eye. Her breathing was a little more erratic, but not overly so, "When... when you were younger... I think you may have been about four or five I think... I found that I was... expecting. Oh Ciel," she let out a small, defeated laugh. Her eyes were distant, as if looking at something which I myself could not see, "I was so _happy_." she sighed. She bit her lip and intertwined her fingers. Her chest shook a little as she took uneven breaths, "Your father was happy too. We  _both_ were."

I tried to swallow the sudden lump in my throat, but I couldn't.

"I remember telling your father..." she smiled sadly at the memory, "You should have seen his face. It was priceless. I remember having to tell him that it was early days yet and that to not go organising parties to celebrate. I... I didn't want you to be told until it was safe to do so. I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to wait until I was at least a few months gone to make sure nothing happened so you wouldn't be disappointed... Anyway, he of course didn't listen and a party was soon organised. Both of your aunts were delighted with the news and your uncle Deidrich clapped your father on the back and congratulated him for... nevermind." she laughed softly to herself, "A few months passed by. I was getting ready to tell you. I may have been three or four months gone. I wasn't really big but you kept asking why I was getting bigger and bigger."

A smile spread across my lips. That's right. I vaguely remember asking her that.

"I didn't want to tell you because I had planned to tell you properly, with your father. So I waited... but... your father was... distant to say the least. And one afternoon, I found him embracing one of the maids. I'll admit she was a beauty. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, alabaster skin... She was definitely too beautiful to be a mere maid. It was James Percy's mother to be exact."

 _That damn lump._  

"I hid around the corner... and... I... overheard him asking how his son was." she spoke through clenched teeth. This time, she laughed a little too manically for my liking, "Ciel, has it never once occurred to you how much that child looked like you? Has it not? Did you not even attempt to connect the dots as to how much you two were alike?"

It seemed to take a very long time for her words to reach me. They penetrated my skull and reached deep into the depths of my weird and twisted mind. A knot in a piece of wood exploded and showered the grate with orange sparks. Then suddenly the room began to tilt and spin. I gripped a hold of the armrest. It didn't help to prevent the sickening chaos that was my new life at that very moment.

"Do you realise now that there was more to why I didn't want you to befriend that child?"

"I..." I cleared my throat. It was so dry, "I don't suppose you really want me to treat that seriously."

"But I do. That's why Vincent acted the way he did when we were told of James' death. Of course, he couldn't say anything in your presence."

I remember how my father had seemed to age considerably after the news of poor James' death. I pushed that thought aside, determined not to place a stain on my father's good name.

"I loved your father... more than anything. There was nothing I loved more in this world than you and Vincent. Of course I couldn't stand back and let them continue, completely oblivious to my presence. I felt like my insides were being shredded and... I panicked. I stepped out of my hiding place and confronted them with my silence. I simply stood there... I couldn't find the words in me to express myself. You see, that day I was supposed to be spending time with your aunt Ann and her new little girl."

That didn't make sense. I didn't recall any other female cousin except for Elizabeth. I didn't know aunt Ann had a child. My mother saw my confusion etched on my face.

"Of course you don't remember her. She... unfortunately died when she was three in that carriage accident with her father and your aunt. Luckily your aunt survived... but they didn't. Her name was Bonnie. She died when you were about seven. Believe me, you two had met. I just suppose that it was so long ago now that you wouldn't remember. You only saw her once or twice because Angelina and her husband lived in the city and couldn't make it out here often due to their work."

I was still so confused. I got up from the couch and hurried over to the window as I was in desperate need of fresh air.

"Like I said... I panicked and... Ciel, it  _hurt_  to see him with someone else. Not only did I find that he was with  _her_  while I was having you, but that he also had another child. And again he was with her while I was expecting for the second time. I guess you could say that it all came crashing down around me... and the stress wasn't good for me or the baby. Your father tried to calm me but I wasn't having any of it. I got so wound up that I.. I lost it. And what made it worse was that I had to see it through to nine months because I was too far gone. That's why I sent you to stay with your aunt Francis for those three weeks during the summer, and you didn't want to go and you made such a fuss about having to spend time being dressed up in girl clothes by Elizabeth. Do you remember?"

That's right. I remembered. I remembered whining about having to go away for three weeks with no real explanation. I was told it was a little holiday for being such a good boy. I remembered crying to my father because I didn't want to leave to be with my strict aunt Francis. He was sat in the chair in his office, not really taking heed of my words, or of me for that matter. His eyes were empty and dead. It seemed like he was incapable of showing any emotions... or maybe he had no more emotions to shed?

"That's why... that's why I want you to be more than just a watchdog for the Queen. I don't want you to grow up and make the same mistakes he has made. Believe me, I cherished your father but... when he did that, I'm afraid that I couldn't forgive him. And I suppose you could blame that for my apathy. I'm sorry that it has turned out this way. I'll admit, I'm not a very nice woman. I don't suppose I ever would have been, but under other circumstances I might have been... oh, I don't know... a lot different certainly."

"Why did you tell me all this?" I whispered. My voice sounded strained.

"You deserved to know. You're old enough now to know the truth."

"I have to say, you sound rather calm about it." I clenched my fingers and stared out the window. The sounds of the old English fiddle blew through the wind towards us.

"Why not? After all, I've had a long time to become calm about it."

"Sleepless nights."

"Oh come, Ciel."

"I don't mean for you. For me. I'm... I'm dispossessed." I bit down on my bottom lip, not caring about the pain.

"Your situation remains unchanged." she stated. Her attempts at placating me were failing, miserably.

"Not inside my head." I nearly growled out. I was surprised. I didn't think any of it would effect me so much.

"Well that's your affair, Ciel. You do realise that I would have told you sooner or later. I'm tired now after all that." she yawned. She got up from the couch and proceeded towards the door. She placed a hand on the door-knob and turned towards me, smiling slightly, "Just know that I do want you to go for all the right reasons, as well as a few of the wrong ones."

She left me.

The door sighed closed behind her. I picked up the poker and began to beat at the fire. Sparks whirled upwards through the chimney. The smoke bellowed around me, stinging my eyes and fouling my mouth. I beat the fire to death and dropped the poker into the grate. I stood back up, trembling and completely exhausted. I was alarmed by my own violence. I brushed at my clothes to rid myself of the dust and black smoke that gathered on my shoulders and torso.

Maybe I was being melodramatic?

I opened the door quietly and stepped out into the passageway. I was so glad it was dark. There was no sound, only that of the breathing house. I walked over to the front door and ignored Tanaka who stepped out of the shadows to see if I was alright. He must have overheard. But of course, he would have known already. He knew everything and anything. I pulled open the door and stepped out into the cold moonlight. I heard the bark of a fox and still the fiddler played.

The gravel crunched under my shoes as I made my way along the path. My mind was drawn to the music and I cut across the path and wandered down by the lake. The water had been turned silver thanks to the moon. The moon was the only source of light. It was a little chilly too, and when I breathed out, a flurry of fog whirled around me. I made my way along the edge of the lake and through the trees and out the little gate which led to the outside world. I stepped out by the lush bushes and found myself at a little crossroads by a small village. About eight or ten people were dancing and some were merely watching from the sidelines. It was an odd sight, especially for one such as myself. The fiddler stood by the edge of the road, moving his body to the sounds of the fiddle. From what I could tell, he was blind. The colour of his irises were very pale, indicating such. They saw nothing. He was very old too and overly skinny with a a little hump in his back. A dog lay by his feet. The fiddler stopped all of a sudden and felt around near his dog for his bottle of what I presumed was alcohol. He picked it up and took a long drink before placing it back down, and accidentally hitting his dog in the ribs in the process. The dog neither jumped nor batted an eyelid. It was probably used to it all by now.

Soft fingers plucked at the sleeve of my shirt, making me whirl around with a gasp.

Sebastian stood behind me. His lips were upturned into a small, gentle smile and his eyes were warm and lulling.

"W-what are you doing here?" I asked after regaining my composure.

He breathed a laugh.

_Damn my heart._

"I followed you."

"You followed me?" I repeated, "Can I ask why?" I demanded, glaring up at him.

"I wanted to see where you were going. I hope you don't mind?" he smirked, before grabbing my waist and pulling me back into the trees.

"What are you-"

"What were you doing running off like that?" he ordered of me as I backed up into the cold bark of a tree.

"Because I wanted to." I hissed, not liking how he was closing in on me, "Besides, why do you want to know?"

I hated the fact that I was coming off as an arrogant brat.

"Because... because I... You'll catch a death out here."

I sighed as I scraped my nails along the bark.

"I suppose it can't be helped. Here. Take this." he took of his black trench coat and took a step froward in order to wrap it around my shoulders.

"Huh, you think I'm the one who's going to catch his death. Look at you." I retorted, eyeing his body up and down, "You're only wearing a measly shirt for crying out loud."

"If the future head of the house were to get sick and I did nothing to prevent it, then what kind of butler would I be?"

I stared at him evenly, "I suppose..."

"Now, take this." he held a small bottle out to me.

"Where did that come from? And have you been drinking on the job?" I asked, unsure of where he had hidden it all this time and feeling mortified if he had begun to drink already.

"Just take a drink. And no, I haven't had a drink, yet."

"Ugh. And no thanks. I'd rather not."

"Oh honestly. Just wipe it and have a drink. It's not like it will kill you."

"What happened to the 'What kind of butler would I be?' nonsense you always go on about?" I took a handkerchief from within my breast pocket and wiped the lip of the bottle. Like he said, it wouldn't kill me. He watched me with a certain amusement while I slowly lifted the bottle to my lips, "Wait. Before I drink this, I want to know what it is."

"It's nice. Just take my word. And please do not let the germs worry you. Have a drink for old time's sake. We share the same germs, don't we?" he asked, trying to retain his smile so it didn't spread from ear to ear as it so wished to.

"God knows where you've been." I muttered under my breath before taking a mouthful and nearly spitting it back out again. I refrained from doing so. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. The liquid scorched my throat, like fire rushing down to my stomach.

"I..." he began.

"Yes?" I asked, trying to ignore the need to vomit.

"There was a reason why I followed you out here."

I paused a moment to look him in the eye, "Go... go on."

"I wanted to tell you something."

I huffed, letting him know to just get on with it.

"I'm enlisting tomorrow."

I stared at him, probably in the biggest state of shock I've ever been in my life.

Sebastian... enlisting... tomorrow? That means...

"You can't be serious?!" I blurted out, suddenly feeling a pain deep within my chest.

He nodded and took the drink from my hands. He all but gulped the liquid before meeting my glare.

"Why?" I demanded.

"Cash."

"Cash? I don't understand..." I looked at him as if he had gone mad, "You know Sebastian, if it was cash you wanted, you should have just come to me and asked. I wouldn't have-"

He laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"I wasn't going to ask you for money."

"Then I want you to explain to me why you have to go to  _war_  while you could just stay  _here_  and earn it."

He continued to laugh and shoved the drink in my hand. I took it and drank, not caring that it burned my throat.

"You better explain." I warned with a pointed finger and stepped past him and out onto the road again.

His lips curled upwards into his signature quirky grin as he followed close behind me.

"I didn't know you cared so much." he whispered into my ear, making me jump out of my skin.

Yes, thank God it was dark or he'd never let me live it down. My cheeks were flaming red and heating up embarrassingly.

"Are you sure you hadn't drank before coming out here?" I hissed as he placed his hands on my shoulders so as to bring me to a stand-still.

He hummed a reply and I could feel his smile against my neck. Yes, my  _neck_. It was cold outside but I felt like it was suddenly the warmest day of the year.

_Damn my heart, again._

"You're a lightweight, Sebastian."

Honestly, he was drunk from just those few gulps of... whatever the hell was in the bottle. Whatever it was, he had drunk most of it as there were only a drops left.

"You idiot."

"Me the idiot?" he asked, resting his chin on my shoulder, "How am I... the idiot?"

"You just are."

"I think _you_ are." he whispered back while chuckling at the pout on my face, "But I'm curious. What else do you think I am?"

"Believe me, you don't want to know." I replied back and attempted to take a step forward before his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me back.

"Oh but I _do_ want to know."

My breathing hitched as I turned around to face him. I'm sure my cheeks flushed when I realised just how close we were. I only came up to his collar bone.

"Go on." he smirked. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. They seemed much brighter than usual.

The only coherent thought running through my mind at that point was, ' _Please, God, kill me. Kill me.'_


	10. It begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That in which Sebastian and Ciel finally let go. It's about time.
> 
> Sorry for the long delay in updating. I hope you all enjoy!

That's it, I thought, I'm done. How the hell was I to get myself out of this?

What have I gone and gotten myself into?

He smirked down at me, eyes grinning smugly. His hands flanked both my sides while he eyed me almost hungrily. Let us not forget, dear reader, that we were standing in full view of those gathered around the old fiddle player. They paid no mind though, for which I was grateful, as they danced around him as if performing some sort of ritual, and he the fire. Sudden laughter erupted from a couple who staggered away from the group, clearly drunk out of their minds. I couldn't exactly understand what they were saying. It was barely comprehensible. The plain woman was grinning and shushing her lover, I presume, as he reached out after her while she stumbled backwards. At the time I wonder how anything of the sort could be considered "attractive". They both looked a complete mess. Whatever they were wailing at each other, it was obviously amusing to them. The woman's overly high squeal of delight pierced my ears as her partner practically swung her around in his arms. I remember thanking the drunk woman, sarcastically of course in my mind, that I was grateful for the oncoming tinnitus attack.

"I'm waiting." he whispered musically with a toothy smile, but I barely heard him over the fiddle and laughter. The softest little hiccup caught my attention and I'm sure I glared up at him in response.

"You're drunk." I ground out.

Another hiccup. Another _adorably cute_ hiccup.

"I... am not!" he exclaimed, looking for all the world offended to the highest degree. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, swaying me with him.

"Yes. You. Are. You lurch." 

He shook his head with a chuckle, determined to be the victor in the little disagreement, "Well, guess what, Phantomhive? You're wrong."

Yes. Definitely drunk. 

I copied his movements mockingly and he laughed and tilted his head back, exposing his pale neck, "I think _you're_ wrong." I muttered bluntly while reaching my hands behind my back to pry his cold fingers that had laced together so as to release myself from his... embrace? I wonder now if it could be called that.

"You're avoiding the... the question." he slurred slight and his fingers tightened and jolted me forwards.

"I am not."

"You are." he whispered back determinedly.

I stood there glaring up at him, heart pounding in my chest. I felt as if my insides were twisting mercilessly as I inwardly panicked.

"You want to know what I think? I think... I think you're a lightweight drunk with a nasty h-habit... who... who happens to be one hell of a butler. Happy?"

He raised a sharp, black brow and grinned. If I couldn't convince myself that that was all I thought of him, then I seriously doubted that he was convinced either.

"Now let go of me."

I tried to free myself, but he only inched closer. Being so close to someone, especially Sebastian... I hate to admit how helpless I felt. 

He only leaned forward even more. Slowly. He lowered his eyes, taking me in. He was smiling slyly down at me. His form shadowed my face from the moonlight, "Is that all?"

That's when I felt his knee pry my own apart.

It's fair to say that at this point, I wasn't really taking note of how composed my face was. From the look in his eye and the smirk on his lips, I could tell that my acting skills hadn't improved, not that I had any to begin with. He seemed to tower over me while I felt myself cowering backwards. Unfortunately, his hands had now unclasped, only to grip my hips instead.

"Seeing as we, or _you_ , I should say, are sharing such deep, riveting thoughts about me, then I shall do the same." he declared lowly with a hiccup, making me release a low snort of laughter and causing me to shake my head. He laughed with me, swaying us both gently against the wind, "Do you really want to know what _I_ think?" he asked, his crooked smile enough to give me palpitations.

I looked off to the side and sighed, "If I must."

"I'll tell you. For such a serious person, you're quite nonsensical. You're-"

"You're telling me my existence makes no sense?" I scoffed at him.

"Have I mentioned that you are int-interruptive?"

"... Possibly."

"You're overly strict and proud." he began again, poking me in the chest twice. It came out just a little slurred, "You have a comp-" hiccup, "competitive nature." I opened my mouth to deny the accusation but he cut me off, "Don't deny it... No, stop it!" he clashed his forehead against mine, as if that was going to shut me up, "See? You're interruptive, Phantomhive. You dislike losing to others. Therefore, you insist on additional rounds" hiccup, "until you are found to be the prominent vi-victor. Should I remind you of the hunting contest between yourself and your aunt Francis not so long ago?"

"Hold on. When have I ever been strict?"

Clearly by the look on his face, he was unimpressed. The look said it all, and quite frankly, I couldn't blame him.

Like I have said before; who ever said I was an angel when I was younger?

"But even with _all_ those flaws," he whispered, smiling down at me to let me know he was only 'taking the piss'. That was one of the many phrases he had taught me over the years, "I think you're," hiccup, "pretty swell."

I leaned back, unable to hide the amused grin on my face, "You think I'm _pretty swell_?"

"I do." he smirked back.

"What an odd thing to say." I noted, but it was barely audible seeing as the laughter only seemed to increase in volume behind him.

I was pretty much confused at that point. I'm sure my face portrayed that confusion ever so precisely.

"Is... is that all you think?" I prompted hesitantly, fully aware of the fact that he was pulling me back into the cover of the trees.

He glanced behind his shoulder to the drunk, giddy people still dancing around the old man and his dog. When he looked back at me, his eyes were the textbook definition of mischievous. When we were enshrouded by darkness, he spun me out from his arms and pushed me back up against the rough bark of a tree. I let out a gasp as he filled the space between us.

_Sebastian._

How can I even begin to describe a man such as he? He was perfect. Flawless. Handsome. No. These words... They are not right. There are no words in existence to describe just how perfect he was. He was so _overwhelmingly_  flawless. How could I even allow myself to imagine that I was somehow good enough? When every aspect of my own life is unbelievably flawed? Even a small, presumably insignificant smile sent my way could send my heart into a frenzy and cause my face to heat mercilessly.

"What are you thinking about?" he breathed. His warm breath fanned across my ear. It tickled slightly. His lips ghosted down along cheek to rest just above my jawline. They were surprisingly soft.

"You."

"Me?"

"Always."

The words had been uttered and there was no way to revoke them. I don't think I would have wanted to take them back, even if I had a choice to do so.

It was too late to go back. 

I guess the situation was something I had been craving for a long time. 

So what was one to do when they had confessed?

I arched my head backwards, allowing him a view of my now sweaty neck, "Always." I respond truthfully, "For a long time." I whispered up to the cloudless sky. A white, faint fog whirled up into the cold air from my mouth, and I smiled as I felt my heart pound with anticipation. 

He looked taken aback. Happily so, though. I could tell by the way something within his eyes ignited. Realisation. 

I fingers brushed against the rough bark when he planted feather-like kisses along my jaw. I could feel myself trembling. My knees were weak. My shoulders felt heavy. My heart was hammering against my ribs. I'm sure he could hear it. My vision. It was all a blur. Next thing I know he's kissing my neck and clawing at my hips. Everything around me... It's all meaningless. All I truly wanted to focus on was him. Nothing else. 

His hands roamed shamelessly up along my sides and wound around my waist, hugging me to him. That's when he began to suck. I was alarmed by the spontaneous moan that erupted from deep within my throat. He pulled away quickly and eyed the spot where his lips had just been only seconds ago.

"What?" I demanded breathlessly, pouting at the lack of contact.

His eyes were trained on that spot and his lips curled upwards into a smirk of triumph.

"Nothing's wrong." he replied, before cupping my warming cheeks in his hands.

I closed my eyes tightly, embarrassed by how my cheeks flamed red.

That was the moment I felt his lips press softly against mine. 

My first kiss... with a man... seven years my senior... a butler no less (not that it mattered)... and drunk...

That thought raced around in my mind as his lips moved against mine. His thumbs stroked my cheeks, as if stroking fragile china. Somehow, in my state of shock, I managed to respond. I had never kissed anyone before. I hadn't the slightest idea of how to go about doing so.

He smiled against my lips, as if reading my thoughts.

And that was when my jaw was pried open by the strong grasp of his hand. Our tongues clashed and lips smacked noisily as I was pressed up against the tree with his knee resting between my thighs.

My head was swimming. I felt lightheaded. 

His hands had left my cheeks at this point. Instead, his left arm snaked around my waist, pulling me into him while his right hand ran through my hair, clamping down on the back of my head, forcing me closer than was possible. My own hands gripped at his waistcoat as our lips moved as one. It sent a tingle down my spine when he would bite my bottom lip and smirk, no doubt loving how co-operative I was.

My lungs burned and I reluctantly pulled away. His lips hovered just above my own. I immediately looked away, anywhere but him. He was smirking subtly, no doubt delighting in how he could make me blush with just one look.

The tips of my fingers were numb as they coiled around his waistcoat.

"Perhaps we should go back now." he whispered, placing a sickly sweet, lingering kiss on the corner of my lips.

I had completely forgotten my reason for escaping the house.

Oh yes, it had something to do with my mother.

My mother...

My eyes widened frantically.

If ever she were to find out... She would have Sebastian's head, and heart, on a platter.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" his own eyes widened in alarm.

"My... my mother... What if she were to find out?"

"It will be alright." he cooed, pulling me against his chest, "She won't find out."

"Are we talking about the same person?" I demanded, though my voice was muffled as my lips were pressed against him, and I secretly took in his scent.

He laughed at me while he stroked my hair, "Of course we are, but just don't show your neck."

I pulled back from his chest and glanced up at him, "Why?"

"Please trust me on this."

And so we walked back to the house, hand in hand. It was requested by Sebastian, and I had blushed and nodded my agreement. I was wearing his coat, and he had buttoned it up and made sure its collar stood upwards so as to hide my neck. I still hadn't a clue as to why he was so insistent about that. When our destination came into view, our hands disconnected, ever wary of unwanted, spying eyes.

It was the middle of the night and so my parents were long gone to sleep. My mother was never awake past one in the morning. My father always retired before her.

He led me through the pantry and along the hallway. I was surprised he could walk in a straight line, considering he was drunk.

He was, after all, one hell of a butler.

We successfully reached the top of the staircase and managed to enter my bedroom without making much of a racket. When we entered the pantry, we had taken off our shoes. If we had kept them on, the whole household would have awoken to see me and the butler sneak into the house. What would I have told my mother then?

He closed over the door and sighed softly when he heard the light _click_. The fire was dwindling with not having been attended to. Sebastian quickly placed a few logs upon it. It rekindled instantly and sputtered with flying sparks. The room was sickeningly warm, making me feel drousy. I immediately wandered over to my bed and clambered upon it. I felt too tired to dress in my nightwear.

"So..."

I arched my back up from the bed, and enjoyed stretching along the sheets. I purred in satisfaction as I allowed my hands to feel the warmth of the blanket underneath me.

"Yes?" I managed, turning my head so as to look at him standing tall by the fire.

I was greeted with an expression that has never graced Sebastian's face before.

He was blushing. His mouth gaped wide and his eyes sparkled in the light of the fire.

After a moments silence, he quickly composed himself and his eyes hardened in determination. He stalked over to me and to be quite honest, I couldn't help but bite my lip as he climbed up on the bed and hovered over me, breath harsh and determined. His knees were planted either side of my hips and his hands rested by my head.

His lips possessed mine once more. They moved with desperation and eagerness, and I willingly obliged and allowed him to do what he wanted.

He lapped at my neck and I trembled when he bit down on a sensitive area, "Should I add more to the collection?" he pondered, more so to himself. His dark eyes glanced upward to meet my own. His voice was teasing as he trailed a kiss down the front of my throat.

"What collection?" I demanded as my hands clenched around fistfuls of blanket and I curled my toes at the sensation of his lips against my skin.

The only reply I received was the chuckle of a man who was no doubt willing to go beyond his brief.

To be honest, I didn't mind in the slightest.


	11. A rather tragic memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Ciel decides to set off from home. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading this. I truly appreciate that you click on this story to read it. Thank you! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the 11th chapter!

"Are you really going to enlist tomorrow?"

I closed my eyes as soon as the words escaped me, embarrassed by how shaky they flowed from my lips, like spotted leaves fluctuating on the wind.

His unblinking scarlet eyes gazed up at the ceiling. I watched him from my place by his side. My left arm had wound its way to lounge lazily across his chest. My feet were tangled in the sheets. My fingers lazily tousled his hair while my elbow supported my near non-existent weight. His own hands had found my hips and I could feel his fingers splayed out across my skin, softly moving in tender strokes.

"Yes." he answered, somewhat sadly. He let out a deep sigh as his eyes wandered back down to meet my own equally disappointed pair. His head nestled back into my favourite pillow, not that I minded, as it allowed me the perfect angle to stretch up and cover his lips with my own. I could sense his hesitancy by the way he pulled back. It took him a moment to realise that I was the one to initiate contact, and I could feel him smile gratefully as I planted small kisses to each corner of his mouth.

I'm not sure why I feel the need to write down this rather tragic memory. Maybe to relive the moments I will never get back or hope to see happen ever again?

"You don't need to go." I urged in a pleading whisper against his pale skin, trailing hot, desperate kisses up along his cheek to his temple, "Stay... Sebastian, stay. _Please_." I could feel my emotions override me as I forced myself closer to him than was physically possible. I knew I probably sounded desperate, but I honestly couldn't have cared less.

He had become the most important person in my life, and I knew the person I had become would die if I had to let him go.

I could hear him swallow harshly as he continued to caress my skin silently, "Sebastian," I hissed at him. The growing frustration within me caused my vision to blur, "say something for God's sake." I demanded through clenched teeth. I could feel my chest tighten and it was suddenly hard to breath.

His ministrations ceased and I could feel his chest rise and deflate as he let out an exhausted sigh, "Ciel…" he began, touching my cheek lightly with the back of his fingers, "Cash, Ciel. That's what's driving me to go."

I remember my eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Had he not listened to a single word I said?

I pushed myself up off his chest, "Didn't I already tell you that if you needed cash, all you had to do was ask."

A small, mirthless smile graced his lips. The look in his eyes told me that he knew more about the world than I did.

He reached up and planted a small kiss on the tip of my nose, "You will just have to forgive me for this."

That was all his said on the subject before he lifted his head up ever so slightly from the pillow to capture my lips with his own. His mouth against mine felt warm and welcoming, bordering on hot as I pressed back into the kiss. His grip on my waist tightened and pulled me closer against him. I slid my hands down his neck to grip onto the curve of his shoulders and leaned up closer to him for a better taste. One of his hands then clasped around the nape of my neck in order to deepen the kiss. His tongue had skimmed across my bottom lip and I hesitantly complied with his wishes.

_Good th ings always come to an end_ .

We lay on the bed surrounded by an air of heavy, crushing silence.

I knew it must have been early morning by how the shade of the drapes had a dark blue hue to them. It was possibly an hour later before either of us spoke.

"I too, will go tomorrow."

"To enlist?"

"Yes."

Sebastian remained silent before speaking once again, "I'd much rather you didn't."

"Why so?" I asked.

"What if something happened to you? What if you die?"

"What if  _you_  die?" I shot back at him.

"Good point." he replied reluctantly.

"My mother says my father's a cheat."

"So?"

"What do you mean 'so'?"

"How does that affect you?"

I thought about it for a moment, "I… suppose it affects me in a lot ways."

"Do you think of him as a lesser man?" the butler inquired, an exquisite brow raising up in question.

"Not particularly."

"Do you love him any less?"

"Not at all."

Sebastian laughed.

"What are you laughing at?"

"You're still quite blind, I see."

I hated it when he would beat around the bush.

"Blind to what?"

"Blind to the woman you call mother."

I lay in bed too long the next morning after the maid had brought in the hot water in a brass can and pulled open the drapes. Sebastian had excused himself an hour beforehand. It took me a long time before I opened my eyes to the blinding light streaming in from the windows. The day was too bright for me. A suitcase lay at the foot of my bed, opened and ready to be of use. The problem of what to put in the suitcase when heading for war was too great to be grappled with. I eventually got up from my bed and fixed my hair and face for the day. I stared back at myself in the mirror, looking remarkably well and offensively young. That was when I caught site of darkened patches of skin on my neck. I then realised what Sebastian's little  _collection_  was.

_"Just don't show your neck."_

He had warned me the night before.

_"Why?"_

_"Please trust me on this."_

I sighed, knowing there was nothing I could do to help that. I could only hope the collar of my shirt would hide the bruised skin.

The gong sounded from downstairs. It always reverberated throughout the house at breakfast, lunch and dinner time, and seemed to proclaim the end of the world rather than the next meal.

I could hear the maid Meyrin hum, perhaps not consciously, from outside my bedroom door as she busied herself with a broom. I could hear it tapping against the cold floor. She seemed somewhat late about her business.

I wriggled my tied tie into position at the front of my collar. Mother was always insistent on an immaculate appearance at the breakfast table.

Father and mother would be there, immaculate and perfect themselves. Father would elegantly bend his head downwards to read the morning paper while mother would read from one of her many poetry books while gracefully eating her cream-drenched porridge. Starch damask napkins will sit neatly across their laps, as per usual.

I believe they will both grow old immaculately, their mutual hatred of one another hidden from the rest of the world behind cold walls.

I often wondered if hatred was necessary where love was concerned, to keep the wheels of society driving forward.

I made sure I looked immaculate for my mother before I went downstairs.

The crisp white cloth covered the table. The room as usual had its air of formal gloom. My father was reading a catalogue while mother was surrounded by her own little delicacies; a comb of honey, her small silver teapot with china tea, her little pot of sugar for her porridge and a small knife with a curlicued handle for her apple.

My mother smiled as I entered the room, "Ah, my dear boy."

She held her face up for a kiss, but I felt repulsed by the thought of even touching her. It took me a long time before I realised what Sebastian had meant when he said I was blind to my mother. Now I understood.

I walked straight past her to the hot-plates on the sideboard. I inspected the food underneath the silver covers. Some of it looked destined to be eaten, while other foods were fated to be thrown to the pigs. It seemed that Bard had cooked breakfast that morning. I placed the covers back down. I didn't really feel like eating anyway.

I made myself a cup of Earl Grey tea before sitting in my usual seat at the long dining table.

I stared out of the window to the garden as there seemed nothing else to do. I could see Finnian happily going about his business across the lawn.

"I do hope you're not sulking." she retorted, her voice flowing across the room like an unwanted draught.

I heard my fingers click as I clenched my fists under the table.

"Why should I sulk?" I replied, offering her a forced smile.

I knew by the stillness of my father that he was listening.

"You know, it's childish to sulk." she easily muttered back.

"What better advice than to follow your own."

The words rushed from my mouth before I had time to think.

Something in her eyes changed. It was almost as if the black of her eyes narrowed, making me feel as if I were a target to be shot at.

_Oh, the irony._

My father had frozen behind his catalogue.

I picked up the tea spoon from the little saucer in front of me and stirred my tea.

"Aren't you eating?" she questioned eventually.

"No."

"Why not?"

There was a touch of anger in her voice.

"I'm not hungry."

"Perhaps you are ill?" she suggested, "But I do believe you are sulking. You used to sulk quite often as a little boy. It's such an unpleasant habit."

"I'm not sulking." I ground out.

"Then why aren't you eating?" she demanded.

I could hear my father stir uncomfortably behind his catalogue. He was always hiding behind that damn thing. 

"I have told you, I'm not hungry."

"Well," started my mother as she poured herself a cup of tea from her own silver pot, "I'll butter you some toast, darling, with a little bit of my special honey. It's really delicious."

"How often do I have to tell you that I'm not hungry?"

"Rachel, he's not hungry."

The look in my father's eyes seemed to advise my mother to drop the subject of getting me to eat, when clearly I didn't desire any food.

My mother's lips tightened into a straight line.

My father's eyes immediately softened as they met mine, "My boy, we need to talk about the hunt-"

"There's no need." I cut in.

"There's no need?" he repeated.

"That's right. Considering I won't be here, I don't think it's necessary."

My father straightened in his chair, his eyes widening, "What do you mean you won't be here?"

"I suppose I'll be heading for Belgium by then."

"There you are." said mother, "I told you he was sulking. But, dear boy, you don't need to go before the opening meet."

"Today."

"Today?" the shrill of her voice reverberated around the room. She was very angry.

"Yes. I'm going today so if you'll excuse me…" 

"Don't you think you're treating us a little unfairly?"

I couldn't help but laugh at her, "Mother, you confuse me. Last night you said you wanted me to join the army. Today I join the army. I don't understand why you're complaining."

"You don't have to go today." my father offered. He seemed, somewhat, in a state of shock.

"The sooner the better." I muttered under my breath as I got up from my seat. I met my father's eyes. The little bit of life that had been in them seemed to slowly vanish, "You know, father," I began. I felt almost helpless as he just stared back, eyes distant, "I had thought of just getting up and going. Crack of dawn, something like that, but I thought better of it."

My mother gestured carelessly with her hands, "If you must, you must."

"Father, I'll catch the train to London. I'll go and pack."

"Such fuss." she muttered.

In spite of the petulance of her words, I was conscious of a radiance coming from her, a feeling of triumph.

"Vincent, we'll send him up in the motor."

"No. I would much rather just catch the train. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I shall have to ask you for money, father."

"By… by all means, son."

My father then picked up the morning newspaper and retired behind it. His hands were shaking.

"Might I say, you have been very thoughtless, Ciel. I will forgive you, however. Now, I shall pack your case for you."

She seemed all too eager when she said that.

She had gotten up from her seat and touched my cheek with her cold fingers. I swatted at them as I would a fly.

"I'll help you."

"I'm only bringing my toothbrush. That's all I need."

"How utterly absurd you are, Ciel."

"Indeed." I responded bitterly.

I turned on my heel and exited the dining room. I closed the double doors behind me and placed my ear against one of them.

An air of silence filled the room before I heard my mother retort.

"What a thoughtless boy for coming up with such a decision."

"Yes, and I wonder who helped him come to it, hm?" came my father's quick insinuating reply.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I waited to hear what she had to say.

"If you want to say something, just say it, Vincent."

"I just have to wonder, what else are you going to take away from me, Rachel?"

I almost jumped when my mother's bell-like laughter hit my ear. It was the only response she gave before I silently ascended the grand staircase.


	12. Off to war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Ciel sets off for war.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

I put my toothbrush and some underclothes into the small brown leather case that lay at the foot of my bed. I suppose my father would have the furniture covered over with white sheets and moth-balls placed in all the drawers and in the tall mahogany press. Perhaps they would forget to open the window. After a while, anonymity would take over. That would be right. If I ever entered that room again, I would be a different person.

The door opened and my father walked solemnly in. He looked at me before speaking, "Your grandfather was a soldier. I can't say it got him anywhere."

I could only hum in response.

"I have to go out now." he said.

I nodded towards him while closing over my leather case. He held a bundle of notes out towards me.

"I have no choice." he murmured, "Something... something has come up."

I took a step forward, "It's okay, father."

"I'm afraid this is all I have about the place, but I will send you more."

"Thank you."

I took the money carefully from his hands and found that I didn't know what to do with it.

"Ciel, never let yourself go short. If there's anything you want…"

"Thank you."

I stood there awkwardly with the notes pressed against my palm. They were crinkled and cold.

At the time, I wasn't sure what else to say.

I stared at the pattern on my duvet, "You… you know why I have to go…"

"I know." he replied. I looked over to him. The look in his eyes were sympathetic, like he knew more than he let on, "I know, son. Just know that she will want to say goodbye on her own. I insist that you are kind to her."

"Yes."

After a moment of silence, my father cleared his throat, "Now you put that money away, son, or you will lose it."

I pushed the notes into my coat pocket for safe keeping.

My father's hands fluttered up to the pockets on his waistcoat and finding what he was looking for, he pulled out his gold watch from his right pocket, "I don't believe sentimentality suits either of us, Ciel. But here, this was my father's. You know, Balaclava and all that nonsense. Take it."

I reached out for it hesitantly, unsure whether to take something so precious away from him.

"Ciel, take it for God's sake. Your grandfather was a great horseman. Some called him a giant. I've no doubt that he was a rotten soldier. But at least he died comfortably in his own bed. Now it's yours. I don't need a watch these days. The house is full of the damn things. Ticking everywhere. Take it and put it away."

I took the watch from his hand, aware of how warm it was. It contained the warmth of his body. I put it into my pocket that contained the money.

"Are you packed?" he asked lightly.

"Yes. I've just a toothbrush. There's no point…"

"Quite."

The silence that occurred between us then was deafening. It wasn't until a few awkward clearing of throats later that I decided to break it.

"It's a pity about the opening meet, don't you think?"

"Yes. It will be a good one next year." he assured me, although he didn't look convinced himself.

All I could do was offer him a small, knowing smile. I bent down and picked up my case. I held out my hand to him.

"Goodbye, I suppose."

He shook it tightly.

"Goodbye, son. Don't, eh, indulge in too much foolishness." he advised with a wink, a small smirk playing on his lips.

I suddenly found it very hard to meet his eyes.

"I'll write, father."

"Yes. Forgive me for not coming down. Be kind to her, Ciel, when you say goodbye."

"I will."

I left him standing there.

My mother was standing in the drawing room waiting for me. As soon as she heard the creak of the door, she twirled around on the spot to face me, making her skirts fan and whirl out around her. She threw out her arms in a splendidly theatrical gesture as she smiled in greeting. I silently walked towards her. The room seemed about a mile long. Her hands flew outwards as I reached her, like two dainty little birds fluttering about my neck. She pulled my face down to hers and I had no choice but to kiss one cheek and then the other. My hands then reached up to unfasten hers. I couldn't help but notice that her eyes were the most triumphant royal blue.

"My darling, you will come to see us in your uniform, won't you?" she asked, running a hand down along my cheek.

Deciding to ignore her question, I said, "There's just one thing I must say before I go, mother."

"Yes, Ciel, what is it?" she asked, smiling up at me.

"It's about what you said last night."

She continued to smile at me expectantly.

"I'll never think less of him, no matter what you say."

It took her a second to register what I meant before the familiar sound of chiming laughter echoed around me.

"Run along, Ciel. You will miss your train."

I abruptly turned on my heel and went towards the door. The journey was not so long that way. She called after me.

"Write to me, Ciel. Do write. I'll be most looking forward to your letters."

Without another word or glance, I left the drawing room.

Out in the hall the servants gathered around me. The word of my leaving had travelled quickly throughout the house. The chef, Bard, gave me a reassuring pat on the back while the gardener, Finnian, sobbed hysterically and the maid, Meyrin, clutched onto Finnian as she too, sobbed into his shoulder.

I couldn't help but sigh at them.

The old butler, Tanaka, stood off to the side. His presence seemed to demand my attention, and I walked over to him after giving Finnian an awkward pat on the head to sooth him.

I had a lot of respect for the old butler. Everyone did. I guess you could say that I saw him as a grandfather figure, considering I never knew my real grandfather.

The man slowly placed both of his gloved hands atop my shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. His old eyes held a certain sadness which told me that he and I both knew the consequences of going to war, and how likely death would be my undoing. But the smile he gave me helped rid me of any second thoughts or doubts.

"I'll see you all at Christmas." was all I could think of to say as I closed the front door behind me. I ran down the steps and got into the motor. I rolled down the window so I could take in the smell of the turf smoke and catch a glimpse of the two swans rocking gently on the lake.

_How many miles to Babylon?_

I admit it was a strange thought for such a moment.

_Four score and ten, sir._

It was the only thing flowing through my mind. It was the strange bumpy rhyme I hadn't heard for years.

_Will I get there by candlelight?_

The bright green leaves danced in the breeze as the car drove down the driveway.

_Yes and back again, sir._

The next six weeks were spent on the shores of Dover, learning to be a soldier. It was like some mad, torturous children's game, except the rules had to be taken seriously, or else. Sebastian had been right when he said they would make me an officer. He had said it just before he left my room that morning. I attempted to grow some facial hair in order to hide my soft childlike mouth, or perhaps merely to raise an amused smile on my lips every time I confronted myself in the mirror. As I predicted, it didn't quite suit me and so I rid myself of the dark moustache that had adorned my upper-lip.

Nothing memorable happened until the last day of September when Major Randall sent for me and told me that I would be leaving for the front line the next morning with him. He had then stared at me for a long time across his polished desk. Rather, he was glaring at me, for reasons I wasn't quite sure, considering I had never met the man personally before then. All I could really do was stare back. From his appearance, I could tell he was a cold man. The light reflected off his glasses that sat upon his pointed nose. His grey eyes seemed to match his grey hair, except, I noticed they had a tint of blue to them. His long hair was held back by a ribbon of some sort. I didn't care to notice the colour of said ribbon. The texture of his face reminded me of well cared for leather. He looked like a man who knew everything about self-control.

"It is my lot, mister Phantomhove," he spoke at last, "to have been landed with the biggest bunch of incompetents I have come across in my life. Many are illiterate peasants, rascals and schoolboys. However, be warned that I intend to make soldiers of the lot of you."

It was nothing new. He had lectured us at least once a week for the whole time we had been there. I knew better than to speak, though.

"Parade your men at nine sharp."

"Yes, sir."

I wasn't quite sure if I was dismissed or not. I watched him as he wrote something on a piece of paper. He then looked up to me again, his glasses glinting in the light.

"You're from London, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"I believe we'll be picking up another bunch of incompetents there. You can have a couple of hours off to go see your family before we leave if you want."

"Thank you, sir, but I'd rather not."

"Suit yourself."

He wrote something else on the paper.

"You can go now."

"Thank you, sir."

As I grasped the handle of the door, he called my name.

"Mister Phantomhive."

"Yes, sir?"

"Mix."

"Mix, sir?"

"Did I stutter, mister Phantomhive?" he asked of me.

"No, sir."

"You know, I watch you. I get the impression that you think you are better than everyone else."

I wasn't sure how to answer him.

"I… I don't believe I do, sir."

"No? Then why don't you mix then?"

"I hadn't really thought about it, sir."

To be honest, I wasn't a very sociable person. I liked to keep to myself. My mother often called me a wallflower at social gatherings, and considering that Sebastian was at another camp, I had no one to converse with.

"Well you should talk to them. Mingle with the group."

"I don't know what to say, sir."

"The problem with war, mister Phantomhive, is that you get the wrong types joining up."

"If you're dissatisfied in any way, I'm sorry, sir. I would be quite happy in the ranks."

"Well that's a damn stupid thing to say."

He tore up the paper in front of him and tossed it into a nearby metal basket. I felt as if he were making some personal comment as he did so.

"Just get your act together and mix with the others. You can go now. Parade at nine and do not forget what I said."

I could feel small beads of sweat form at my hairline and trickle down my temples. I shut the door behind me and noticed the N.C.O on duty grinning at me. I couldn't help but swallow when I saw his odd, pointed teeth. I took my handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed at my forehead. He then winked. I gave him a nod in return, with what I hoped was dignity.

Exiting the building, I took in a mouthful of much needed fresh air. The cold breeze was welcoming, considering I felt like I had just been in a furnace while conversing with Major Randall.

That was when I saw him, leaning against the wall of the opposite building, smirking at me. I must say, I felt as if my heart had just leapt from my chest. Soon enough, he was walking over to me, while I stood frozen as if I were planted to the spot.

"Close your mouth, or you'll catch flies."

He placed his finger gently under my chin and pushed up, effectively closing my mouth for me.

"I… I thought you were at another camp."

"I was transferred here this morning. I tried to find you." he replied. His eyes were darting from one direction to another, always wary of unwanted, spying eyes, "Come with me." he whispered, before he turned his back on me and headed in the opposite direction.

I quickly followed.

"How have you been?" he asked as I caught up with him.

"Good. What about you?"

He looked around cautiously before spitting.

"Sebastian, that's disgusting."

"Isn't why we're here disgusting?"

I sighed at him.

We were soon nearing the peripheral of the large camp. The number of people as we walked to the outskirts were dwindling.

We soon came across an abandoned building specifically built for the camp. The building was not in use anymore for the mere reason that it was too far out from the core of the camp. There were no soldiers in sight.

"In here."

He held the door open as I walk through.

I was surrounded by grey. The large desk in the side-room now had a very thin layer of dust coating it. Chairs were placed randomly about the room and papers were spotted along the floor.

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind.

"You're not going to believe this, but I missed you." he whispered against my skin, mouth ajar as his teeth grazed my neck.

He could always make me smile.

"Well, you're in luck, because I actually missed you too." I whispered back and leaned my head back on his shoulder.

His chuckle flowed about the room as he began to plant kisses up along the back of my neck to my ear.

"I hated not being able to see you."

"Me too."

I found that I was being pushed forward towards the desk, and let out a breath as he abruptly turned me on my heels to face him. His right hand wrapped around my waist while his left hand cupped under right knee and lifted me up so that I was sitting on the dust coated desk.

I instantly wrapped my arms around his pale neck and pulled him down to steal a kiss, or two… or possibly three. I lost count.

He didn't mind as he complied with my wishes.

I felt as if I were finally feeling an ounce of normalcy, and so I clung to him.

A content sigh escaped him as he hugged me close. My arms wound around his thin, but well-built waist. I honestly didn't want to let him go.

Major Randall had given me a few hours off and so there was no way I was going to waste any of that time.

He had situated himself comfortably between my legs, but I couldn't help but feel like he wasn't close enough.

"We're off tomorrow." I whispered solemnly against his chest.

"I know."

We must have stayed like that for hours because the sun was slowly beginning to set behind the trees.

Lifting my face once more, he pressed his lips against mine.

We savoured that moment, knowing full well that we might never get a moment like it ever again.

 


	13. The first casualty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Ciel and Sebastian set off for war.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the lovely comments. I appreciate them a lot!

"Good luck." I called out after him as he walked away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, which might I add, was against the rules.

The orange pinkish haze of the setting sun was quickly seized by dark, thunderous-looking clouds. That was when the rain hit. The rain was like large drops that burst into a million icy fragments as they hit against hardened, tired skin.

I watched as he began to run, which I'm sure, was also against the rules.

 _Only run when attacking the enemy, and then make sure you are running towards him and not any other damn inefficient way, or you'll be shot dead by one of your very own standing on guard,_ was what Major Randall huffed at us during his guards job was to shoot those who retreat back to their own trench. That sort of death is reserved for those who are too cowardly to face the enemy.

At the corner of a building not far off, he stopped and turned back to face me.

I felt a pang in my chest as I watched him standing in the rain, cold and drained-looking,

He was completely soaked from head to toe. His green coat was drenched and had darkened as a result. Of what little I could see of his shirt, it clung to his skin and small droplets fell from his cuffs. His hair stuck to his shining forehead and glossy cheeks, like black veins crawling along his skin. His cheeks had a faint blush to them due to the cold and harsh rain.

But it was his expression that had melted me to the very spot where I stood. The slight curve of his lips and the wink of a strange maroon eye ruptured something within me.

I wouldn't say that I regretted leaving for war. I could never say that, and it's not like I didn't know the likely outcome of doing so. Major Randall had well prepared us for the outcome we should expect in his many rants and lectures. You were certainly a damn naïve fool if you expected to leave the war, or just unscathed, both physically and mentally.

I was a coward. I knew damn well that I was. I didn't need anyone to tell me. I already knew. But Sebastian seemed so oddly at home surrounded by the war, like he had prepared for it for years. However, just from the look in his eyes at that moment, I knew it would be okay. That no matter what path this war would lead us on, either to life or death, it would be okay, because we were in this together.

At that moment, I was thankful it was raining so he wouldn't be able to tell the droplets of rain from the tears sliding down my cheeks.

Then he was gone.

It rained all the next day.

We were joined in London by another two hundred men and a couple of subalterns from the third battalion. They weren't exactly fit for war.  _Poor Randall_ , I thought,  _how sad for you that we constitute no grave danger to the Hun_.

Marching through London, grey crowds lined the equally grey streets. A few women called "God bless you", not that it would help. We were completely soaked to the skin by the time we reached the ship that would take us to our final destination. She backed, as she had done when I travelled with my mother to Europe, out of the Port of Dover and then turned her stern towards the war.

Even with the grey clouds and the rain, the bay was beautiful. Pale glittering lights shone off the water, like jewels. The gulls mewed above us and the lighthouse flashed in warning and salutation.

_How many miles to…?_

Some of the men continued to wave until the harbour was no longer in sight. It was their last image of home.

The first casualty aboard the ship was some poor fool who cut his wrists before we even landed at Le Havre. I had been called upon to inspect the damage caused to his wrists, even though I was no medic. Randall had only given the young soldier a gruff of annoyance before he shouted for me.

"Phantomhive!" he called sternly, "Where is that God forsaken man?! Phantomhive, get over here at once!"

I hastily stumbled passed a few onlookers and saw the poor bastard slumped on the floor in agony.

Major Randall grabbed my shoulder and pulled me forward quickly, "Check this idiot's wounds. Christ, I've been given cowards, not soldiers." he complained o the heavens as he pushed passed the onlookers to go about his business.

"But sir!" I called over the crowd. He didn't look back. I mumbled a curse as I knelt by the young man on the ground. I turned to glare at the others surrounding us, "Back off, all of you. I need some room."

As an officer, they carried out my orders and backed out of the room. But some glanced in through the doorway in order to quench their curiosity.

"Well aren't you a fool." I muttered darkly to the young soldier. He looked younger than I. I gently picked up both of his hands so that his palms were facing upwards. Blood coated his pale skin as it pulsed from his wrists. The cuts were deep. Very deep. It wasn't hard to conclude that he had severed a vein. I wasn't too well-versed on the human body, but I wasn't simple, "You bloody idiot."

The young man beneath me was whimpering in pain and unable to talk. That's when I caught sight of the razor covered in blood on the floor by his thigh. I realised that he must have been truly terrified if he went to such lengths to end his existence in this Hell we were all enduring.

I called out for cloths of some sort. One of the men peering in from the doorway produced greying pieces of material. I didn't care that they were dirty. If they slowed down the blood loss then it didn't matter.

I held the materials, but I was quickly pushed out of the way when another young soldier, by the name Ryan Stoker, took my place in front of the first casualty, declaring that he was a medic and knew what to do. Major Randall must have found him.

Other than all that, the journey was rather uneventful. I didn't even see Sebastian once due to the large difference in our ranking.

Each man was given a copy of the following directive and told to keep it in his Pay Book and obviously read it in moments of temptation.

'You are ordered abroad as soldiers of the King to help our French comrades against the invasion of a common enemy. You have to perform a task which will need your courage, your energy and your patience. Remember, the honour of the British Army depends on your individual conduct. It will be your duty not only to set an example of discipline and perfect steadiness under fire but also to maintain the friendliest of relations with those you are helping in this struggle. In this experience you may find temptation in both wine and women. You must entirely resist both temptations, and, while treating all women with perfect courtesy, you should avoid any intimacy. Do your duty bravely. Fear God. Honour the King.'

 _Poor Sebastian_ , I thought sarcastically,  _my heart bleeds for you_.

We landed at Le Havre where, due to intense confusion about transport, we had to camp for several days. The men constantly complained and the Major created more rules for us all to follow. We were ordered not to eat pork when we got up near the front, as the pigs that remained alive, which were not many, fed and grew temptingly fat on human flesh. English, French, German. The pigs did not care. All races were the same to them.

The countryside was absolutely miserable. We were all permanently wet. Eventually, after a long wait, we were all packed inside a train and then unpacked at Bailleul rather late in the evening. It was still raining when we got there. We had to march the last ten miles to West Outre that night along a cobbled road. It was greasy with mud and horse dung. We had to wade our way through mud ankle high and we were constantly spattered with filth due to the passing transport lorries. The centre of the road was considered paradise. The men, of course, complained. Our base was, and has remained to be, a derelict farm. A high metal gate closed it off from the road. There were two barns, one on each side of the yard. One was for the men and the other was a squat stone farmhouse for Major Randall, Aberline, myself, the N. and the orderlies.

I could hear the big guns in the distance. The sound of musketry fire was too close for total comfort. Sometimes, the ground shook under us and the few remaining windows would rattle in their frames.

Aberline, who seemed a nice, overly-trusting young man, had joined us at Bailleul. He mentioned that he was five years older than myself and had come from England. He was certainly an odd man. He had the air of someone who knew the ropes, like he had seen it all before. He took me under his wing, for which I was grateful. He and I shared a small attic, along with some mongrel dog that roamed around, which might I add, added a pungency to the atmosphere which, frankly, neither of us enjoyed. But we neither had the heart to do anything about it. There was a small fireplace in which we lit a fire daily to keep the place warm. The room smoked and it was almost unbearable. But the fire allowed us to keep our clothes relatively dry.

On our fourth morning the sun decided to make an appearance. We both went out to the yard and looked up at it.

"It's definitely real." Aberline commented as he held a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun's glare.

"But there's not much warmth in it." I muttered dryly, feeling a chill go down my spine.

"You can't have everything." Aberline reasoned, "I know where we could get a couple of horses."

I gave him a look, "Don't be a fool, Aberline. Major Randall would never let us go riding."

"Who's going to tell him?"

I thought about it for a moment, "Well, you have a point there."

My thoughts drifted back to Sebastian.

"Can you make that three horses?" I asked.

"Why so?"

"I… I have a friend."

"Alright then. What fun it'll be."

After a wave goodbye from Aberline, I roamed out of the gate and down the road where some of the men were raising mighty earthworks in the interest of discipline, morale and whiling away the time.

The N.C.O in charge looked positively bored as he pushed his spectacles up along the bridge of his nose . He stood as straight as a pole, inspecting the work being done. Another man, the N.C.O I had seen after my tense talk with Major Randall, stood close to him.  _Very_ close to him. I'm not going to lie and say he didn't freak me out. The N.C.O in charge didn't look pleased either.

"Thanks to you," he droned towards his red-haired companion, "I've been landed with more overtime."

"Could I have Private Michaelis for an hour or so?" I asked, interrupting them.

The red-haired male whirled around, looking about ready to spew nonsense at me.

"Private Michaelis?" the N.C.O in charge repeated.

I nodded in response.

"Oh... Yes." he muttered, as if he harboured a great dislike for the man.

I knew that he would never have spoken like that to the Major or even Aberline. Even though all knew my rank in the army and indeed my nobility, it still didn't help earn the proper respect that one in my position demanded.

He turned to the men at work. The other bespectacled man threw me a look that I chose to ignore. My eyes wandered over to the men, ever searching for that mop of black hair.

"Michaelis, you good for nothing, get your backside out of there at once. Mister Phantomhive wants you."

"I'm sure he does." came a sly response.

I tried not to roll my eyes as Sebastian appeared out of the man-made hole in the ground. Finding his feet, he saluted with a smirk. I turned my back on him quickly and marched away as fast as my legs would carry me. I could hear the mud squish under his feet as he ran to catch up.

"I have some horses." I told him as soon as we were out of earshot of others.

"Really?" he asked. I'm positive I heard the smirk he was wearing as his words rolled off his tongue like velvet.

"Yes."

We walked past the gates, away from the possible spying eye of Major Randall or the C.S.M who had no respect for junior officers.

" _Real_  horses now, Ciel?" he teased.

"Yes." I replied, resisting the urge the glare back at him, "Real horses, you idiot."

"How did you manage to accomplish that?"

"I have friends in the right places." I replied back haughtily.

His jaw clenched and unclenched.

"What's wrong?" I asked, wearing a rather pleased smirk of my own.

"Nothing." he muttered dryly.

A possibly jealous Sebastian?

That thought alone was enough to make me laugh.

It still does.


	14. Good sportsmanship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sebastian and Aberline compete against one another.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! It's a little shorter than normal but I hope you all like it.

"I suppose," I began, suddenly feeling the bitter chill of the growing December wind as I sat frozen atop the blue roan horse that Fred Aberline, had brought for me. Sebastian rode close by on his dark bay, slightly crazy, stallion and squeezed my coated shoulder when he saw my frame trembling with the cold, "that I would much rather watch the war than be in it."

We had been at the camp for some time at that point.

"So you would rather be home?" Aberline inquired as he lightly tapped his heels against his horse's underbelly. This caused the horse to surge forward a little.

"I wouldn't say that." I replied, shaking my head as I glanced up along the path in front of us.

"Why so?"

The aggravated expression upon Sebastian's tired face caught my eyes. He almost looked pained at having to be in Aberline's presence. He rolled his burgundy eyes and gnashed his teeth in irritation. He was lucky that he was shielded by myself so the other man couldn't see him. It was quite clear that he didn't have the same view that I had for the other slightly care-free officer. I made a mental note to pull him up on it later.

"I think there's something rather splendid about it all." came Fred's oddly cheerful reply to his own question. His voice seemed to slice through the frosty air as he looked over at me, "There's always a chance that one might become a hero. Does… does that not stir your blood?" he queried excitedly. It surprised me a little to see how his eyes lit up at the prospect that one might actually survive this Godforsaken war.

"I can't say it does." I retorted, "But I know one thing, I'm bloody freezing." I grumbled as I tried to shuffle my disastrous coat closer to my body than possible.

Aberline's laughter rattled through the frigid air, "And here I thought that all English people were romantic." he chuckled.

"There's nothing remotely romantic about it." Sebastian replied tediously, speaking for the first time that day. He never said much when in the company of others. His icy response seemed to chill the air even more and I shivered violently.

"Pity." Fred commented before turning his attention to my shivering frame, "Ciel, do you want my coat? I don't mind." he smiled genuinely as he began to unbutton down his front.

Sebastian cleared his throat, like a warning bell.

I smiled back at the man to my left and shook my head, "That's quite alright, Aberline. Thank you for the offer though."

I threw an irritated look to my right, hoping that Sebastian saw it.

"You know," said Aberline, "my life has been a little dull up until now. It has just consisted of patterns, you know? Everywhere you look. Patterns. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me, besides my wife. I'll either become a hero or I'll die."

"Death is more permanent." I suggested, "But how has your life been dull, you know, since you're married and all that?"

"I worked for Scotland Yard. I have to say, it wasn't at all exciting. I think fighting in the war will help secure freedom for the next generation. Fighting in this war seems more effective than trawling the streets of London."

"Hm."

"You're quite the cynic, Ciel." he laughed, "Besides, at least death is a mystery."

"So is tomorrow." Sebastian added before he cantered ahead of us looking mightily unimpressed.

"So," Aberline spoke lowly as he neared his horse to mine, "Friends?"

I squinted over at the ruddy haired male, inwardly cursing the sun stinging my eyes, "Excuse me?"

"You two are friends?" he repeated, looking a little embarrassed with himself.

"Yes… Friends." I answered, offering him a small smile, hoping to whatever God existed that he didn't see the light blush coating my cheeks.

Ever since Aberline had leaned down from his horse and held out his hand to Sebastian upon meeting, he instantly had my respect.

"How so?"

_How so indeed._

I allowed for a bitter, slightly nervous laugh, "It's my job to sound like a snob, Aberline, not you."

"Phantomhive…" he said slowly, allowing my name to roll off his tongue as he thought for a moment, "Let me guess. You're the heir to that toy company. Funtom Company… Phantom Company..."

I fought the urge to laugh as he compared the two strange names.

"It's not just toys, but confectionaries too. Am I right?" he asked.

"You're right."

"But that's not all, is it?"

I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably as I began to wonder just how much Aberline really knew about my family. My racing thoughts were interrupted by a truly pissed-off Sebastian who shouted back to us.

"Are you two just going to sit around and chat all day long or are you actually going to get a move on?!"

Aberline smiled sheepishly and scratched at a sudden itch on the back of his neck while I fixed the black haired male with a warning glare of my own.

"Tell me, Sebastian, why did you join?" the man beside me asked as we caught up with our impatient companion.

"Cash."

I hated that word.

" _Just_  for the money?"

"Yes." Sebastian nodded once and jerked his head towards me, "And he joined because his mum wanted to get rid of him. Now you know it all."

I felt myself blushing, from embarrassment or anger, I didn't know.

My poor fellow officer looked startled.

I began to laugh, hoping that it sounded as carefree as I wanted it to.

"Are you… eh… pulling my leg?" the officer asked nervously.

"Not at all. Ask him yourself." Sebastian replied and smiled as his burgundy eyes met mine, "Well, seeing as you two are such good friends, it's only natural you should know."

I swallowed as the male looked at me.

"Is it true?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing together as he gave me a look I did not want to recieve.

"There is a strong element…" I began, "though mind you," I said, looking Sebastian straight in the eye, "I don't think I would have mentioned it myself. Sebastian is quite the contortionist." I finished, sending him my iciest smile.

He had the nerve to look pleased.

Aberline didn't seem to know where to look, "My… my mother cried. It wasn't unexpected, but…"

"Mine played Chopin triumphantly on the piano the moment I left the room." I invented. It was probably true anyway, "Grand Valse Brillante."

"How eh… how very remarkable." the ruddy haired man countered, looking awkwardly about himself.

"Exactly." I smiled.

"My mother didn't seemed too fazed," Sebastian added, "seeing as my bastard of a father went before me."

There was silence as the horses slowly sauntered their way along the trodden path through a field. The path to where, I didn't know.

"I know what we could do." Aberline exclaimed suddenly, possibly out of desperation to lift the sudden tension in the air, "First one to that battered giant oak tree wins… eh… actually, let's just do it for fun's sake."

"I'm in." I said without hesitancy. I never backed down from a challenge. I glanced over to my companion, hoping to whatever God upon high that he would just drop his sour attitude.

Sebastian met my demanding stare before sighing in defeat, "Fine. You're on Aberline. But," he spoke, "you are not to join in." he warned, pointing a finger at me.

I shot him an incredulous glare, "What?! Why not?" I demanded.

"You and I both know that you can't handle a horse very well. You'll be off like a shot and there will be no stopping you."

I breathed out heavily through my lips, creating a white hazy mist, before hanging my head in defeat. Sebastian was right. I'd never be able to control a horse while it galloped. I'd be killed by a bloody horse, not the war.

"The winner," Sebastian continued, "can give him his coat. Does that sound agreeable?"

The urge to laugh was too hard to resist.

What was he playing at?

"Aberline, what do you say?" he almost goaded. The edges of his lips curled upwards into a taunting smirk.

"Alright then."

The two seemed to be conversing in silence as I glanced from one to the other.

It was ridiculous, but I couldn't help but feel excited to see who would win. Sebastian Michaelis excelled at horsemanship, but maybe Fred Aberline could conquer over him?

The two of them lined up side by side and on my mark, they were off, like birds lifting from a summer hillside. It was an incredible sight. The competitive glares shot from one to the other didn't go unnoticed.

Sebastian, of course, reached the goal before Aberline. I cantered easily behind them and saw the steam rise off the horses backs as I neared. My heart's rhythm picked up pace within my chest when I saw the triumphant grin grace Sebastian's lips. Fred shook his hand. A symbol of good sportsmanship. I'm just glad he wasn't a sore loser.

Sebastian winked at me and patted his thigh, signalling me to ride closer to him. I did my best not to roll my eyes. I sidled my horse beside his, lucky that our faces were now out of Aberline's view.

Ever so slowly, Sebastian began easing the buttons out of the holes on his front. His coat was maybe two sizes bigger than my own. It would fit easily over my own coat.

He was truly enjoying himself, well, if that smirk was anything to go by. The coat slipped off his lean frame and he beckoned me closer as he held it out, ready for me to put my arms through the sleeves.

Aberline fidgeted in his saddle as he watched the transaction. He seemed a little put-out that he didn't win. I thought it best not to figure out why.

The man beside me buttoned me up and fixed the collar, all while grinning foolishly. I knew I'd have to _thank_  him later.

"Well, wasn't that fun?" Aberline laughed suddenly, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at the sweat forming on his brow.

Sebastian winked at me, "Indeed it was."

I would never have been able to tear my gaze from those eyes if it wasn't for my fellow officer slapping me on the back with a laugh.

I decided to break my silence, "You both did well... considering. At least you get to stay warm, Aberline." I smiled.

"You know, I think I'll live in the country when this show is over." the man proclaimed.

We walked the horses soberly back over the field. The skin on my horse's neck trembled too, possibly due to a fly of some sort. Do flies live during the winter?

"You would rather live in the country than in London? There's absolutely nothing at all exciting about the country. London would be more suited to you, don't you think?" I offered.

"After this war, I will have had enough excitement." Aberline replied tiredly.

"If you survive it."

Why did he  _always_  have to add something so melancholic to the conversation in order to ruin the mood?

"For God's sake, Sebastian." I mumbled under my breath.

He smiled warmly and winked again, causing my cheeks to almost glow with a dusting of pink.

Maybe I shouldn't have worn the extra coat after all.


	15. Performing dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel soon learns what life is really like living in the trenches. 
> 
> This is a quick update because I really want to get back into writing for this story.  
> Enjoy!

“Hey... Hey you three! Yes, you three there.” came a shout.

A small floundering major appeared through a gap in the hedge, kicking aimlessly at the brambles coiled around his boots.

“You three. Stop immediately!” he cried again, wagging his finger to and throw.

His face was red with anger, or from exertion... or both. Yes, I thought, most definitely both.

“Sir.” Aberline said, saluting a little too enthusiastically from atop his horse.

“Dismount. Dismount right now!”

The three of us quickly dismounted. I don’t know what I must have looked like to the irate major wearing an extra coat that was clearly not my own. I stood to attention between my two companions.

“What in seven Hell’s do you think you are doing?” he gestured wildly to the horses in his clearly Cornish accent. At the time, I remember thinking that he resembled an angry cockerel ruffling his feathers. It was almost comical, “I have been watching you lot for the past twenty minutes. Have you all gone mad?”

“We... ah... we saw a fox, sir.” I lied. The other two were clearly keeping their mouths shut.

“A fox?” he repeated.

The little major stared at me like I had truly taken leave of my senses.

Slowly, his plump fingers felt around his breast pocket, tugging out a note-book and pencil.

“Yes, sir.”

Rolling his eyes, he tiredly sighed, “Name?”

“Phantomhive, sir.”

“Regiment?”

"London Regiment, sir."

“Right, right. You next.” he said, glancing over to my right.

“Aberline, sir. London Regiment, sir."

The major wrote quickly. His nails were filthy with muck. Frowning, I glanced down at my own nails and curled my lip.

There was something about this old bastard that told me he would cause a lot of trouble for us. We'd have to stay clear of him.

“And you,” the major demanded, giving Sebastian half a second’s glance, “your name?”

“Private Michaelis, sir.” he replied with a salute.

The major looked at both Aberline and I like we had had grown an extra head on our shoulders.

“What is this man doing with you?”

I swallowed thickly, "We.... I mean _I_ invited him, sir."

The major looked about himself and scribbled a few final words before tucking the pad and pencil back into his breast pocket.

"I suppose," he began, clearing his throat noisily, "you think that you're here for the fun of it."

Aberline, the fool, spoke up with shock, "Oh no, sir. We..."

"Damned schoolboys." the man in front of us spat through his thin lips, "Who is your commanding officer?"

"Major Randall, sir."

"Well then, make no mistake about it. Major Randall will be informed of your behavior. Of your... your..." I swear his face turned two shades darker than before, "behavior. It will be up to him to decide the punishment for this... this... carry-on." he stuttered. He grew silent as his eyes shifted to Sebastian, "And as for you... you may remount. Get back to your billets at once. The lot of you. Go."

We quickly remounted, desperate to be rid of him.

"Make no damn mistake!" he shouted after us, "This will not go unpunished!"

The wind was blowing straight in our faces, stinging our cheeks like needles puncturing our skin. We sauntered along the lane, passing by a dead horse. It's body was swollen with whatever chemical changed that were occurring inside it. This was the only visible sign of violence. Soon we dismounted and handed the reins over to Aberline.

"So everyone had a good time? Apart from..."

"It was splendid." Sebastian replied dryly. I honestly couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

We still had quite the trek in front of us. Aberline wished to return the horses to... wherever the hell he robbed them from. Sebastian and I walked side by side. 

"We'll be heading to the front line tomorrow." I whispered into the chilly air. I watched the fog whirl upwards, feeling his fingers wiggle themselves between my own. With a cautious glance around our surroundings, he pulled me gently to the long grass. In seconds, he had me on my back. I was suddenly grateful for the extra coat. I remember the sweet touches, his lips barely touching my skin in gentle kisses, the raking of his fingers through my hair. I tried to imagine us both by the lake back home, but home was so far away from the Hell I was soon to learn of. 

The next morning we went up to the front line. We would spend three days in the front trenches and then we would withdraw to the support trenches for three day and then back again. After about two weeks of going back and forth, we were sent back to the farm for fives days rest. Snipers were the main problem while in the front trenches. To allow your head to appear over the mound up above for even the slightest second was asking for trouble. While in the support trenches, there was always a chance of being blown to shreds by a mis-aimed shell. Shells would blow great mounds of earth, stones, branches, fragmented bodies of animals and men high into the air. They would then scatter everywhere, leaving us to repair the trench and find those who have been injured, or killed, by those who were already dead. I was terrified. Let me stress that I was not afraid of death. I am not afraid of it. In truth, I was afraid to wake up one morning and come to accept the disgusting way we lived. In order to survive the days, I worked out a system. I realised that I must concentrate solely on my own petty discomforts. It was the art of not looking beyond the end of your nose. Look after yourself and fulfill your duty. That's it. I couldn't even bring myself to worry for him. Sebastian could look out for himself. I hoped that the pain in my legs would blind me to everything else. It was a shock to the system, living like this. 

Tea was very important, especially tea laced with rum. It would keep my mind pretty numb to everything. Numb to the fact that, as Aberline began to say, we were merely performing dogs. 

"Performing dogs. Nothing more, nothing less. Give a slight crack of the whip. Someone mentions the word, La Patrie, la Gloire, das Vaterland, Britons will never be slaves, and the performing dogs all rush out to kill each other..."


	16. C'est la bloody vie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The clever performing dogs will pick up the whips and teach a whole new range of tricks to the rest and the entire performance starts over. Again and again. C’est la bloody vie."

“My God man, this tea is bloody revolting.”

I took my little flask of rum from my pocket and passed it to Aberline.

“The cure-all.” I said with a quirk of my lips, as he splashed the rum into his tea. His nostrils flared with pleasure as the comforting smell of rum rose with the steam.

“Ciel, I’ll admit that sometimes you have sense, there’s no denying that.” he chuckled lightly as he took a tentative sip of the warm liquid. He handed back my flask, and I shook it lightly before placing it back where it belonged.

“Are you not having any?” he asked, glancing up through his lashes as he sipped slowly, savouring the taste.

“No. I thought I’d save what I have left for Sebastian. It’s cold out there. He needs it more than I.”

We both sat in silence. I swallowed and looked towards the window, a window that hadn’t seen a cloth and soapy water for what must have been years. The weather was overcast, the world outside dull and uninviting. I knew that somewhere close by, the war was raging on.

“It’s a curious thing.” he murmured quietly, taking another rather loud sip of tea.

“What is?”

Yes, the tea was revolting, and not even the rum could help. I frown as I remember the taste. The tea was sweet and stewed, and the way it felt as it trickled down my throat is a feeling I’d rather forget. I thought of charming little china tea cups, chopped lemon rings floating on pale liquid. The oozing of elegance. The security. Pale fingers, like those of a porcelain doll.

“The men, Ciel… the men like you. You’re fair. You’re decent to them. You all come from different corners of the same land, but when it comes down to it, they would never follow you; you know, the valley of death and all that. It wouldn’t be any different for me… they don’t like me,” he sighed wistfully, “not that I care. The only man who can make them forget themselves and run in the right direction when the moment inevitably arrives is Randall. The dogs, Ciel, the dogs trust those who crack the whip. I’ll probably become one myself.”

With that, he lay back in the straw and puffed out a sigh.

I tapped the toe of my boots together, “You do say such idiotic things sometimes.”

I wondered if he managed to quickly fall asleep. One hand held his mug of tea while the other was splayed out at his side, relaxed.

“What is it you see, you know, when you close your eyes, Ciel?”

I was taken aback by the question. What an odd thing to ask. I furrowed my brows, “I see dots, I suppose. Little tiny dots. Millions of them scattered in the dark. Like stars.”

“You’re quite literal, but I think you’re an ass.” he grumbled bluntly, “I call bull on your dots. You know what I see? I see slaves turning on their masters. And then do you know what will happen?”

“What?” I asked, rolling my head to stretch my neck.

“I see dancing in the streets. I hear people singing their hearts out. Things that are beautiful. Perfection rising and then bam.”

“Bam?” I asked sceptically, lifting my mug to my lips.

“Yes. Bam. Baff. Boom.”

“That’s odd.” I quirked my lips, “Obscure. When I close my eyes, all I see is dots.”

I took my flea bag from his feet and shuddered at the sight. His feet were crusty with mud and very bony.

“Baff. The clever performing dogs will pick up the whips and teach a whole new range of tricks to the rest and the entire performance starts over. Again and again. C’est la bloody vie. Humorous, isn’t it?”

“Hilarious.” I replied dryly.

“To be honest, I think it would be quite realistic to say that I have anything between a minute to six weeks. If you’re not going to put that bag under your bum, pass it here, that’s a good fellow.”

I laughed and tucked the flea bag around his feet.

“They stink.” I groaned, holding my head back to try and spare myself of some of the smell.

“Don’t you be minding that now.” he moaned, fidgeting as he got comfortable, “When we get to West Outre I’ll wash them. Change the crusty socks.”

I grimaced and scooted back, “ _Wash_ the crusty socks, too.”

“No. I haven’t much time left for this pair I fear.” he groaned slowly as he stretched, “How about I shoot them at the Hun, hm? A new secret weapon.”

I shook my head with a laugh, “Yes, bring it up with Major Randall when you next see him.”

“Is there anymore rum going?” he asked hopefully.

“No.”

He drank more of his tea. It must have been cold at that point. He was the only person I have ever met who could drink from a mug while lying on his back. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking about. It was impossible. Even when he spoke, his face remained like a blank sheet of paper. 

Quickly downing my lukewarm tea, I gathered myself up off the floor and put on my greatcoat and cap. Aberline never acknowledged my leaving, didn’t even bat an eyelid. He was probably too busy dancing and singing with the others he sees when he closes his eyes. Dancing in the streets with the risen slaves.

Mother would have a fit.

I will admit that I snickered to myself at the thought of her discomfort.

I left to do my rounds.

At least the Germans had let up a little. The men reported nothing.

Sebastian was on his own at the furthest end of the trench. The duckboarding used to walk on had rotted away where he was, and so I found him stood in about a foot of water.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” he answered, kicking idly at the muddy water, “At least the shelling’s over, for the moment anyway. I honestly thought I’d never hear again.”

Groaning irritably I stepped off the last bit of plank and into the miniature lake. I shuddered in disgust as water began to clog my boots and handed him the flask.

“For you.” I said quietly, stepping forward. Heart hammering, I met his eyes.

And there it was. That smile that could floor me the moment I saw it.

We stood for a while. Talking lowly. Telling God awful jokes. Sharing quick glances. Both slowly edging towards the other. Fingers creeping, searching. Clasped hands now safely hidden behind our sleeves.

“We’ll share the dregs.”

There wasn’t much of the rum to share, only a mouth-warmer.

“How’s your man, Aberline?”

We stood side by side, our backs to the wall of the trench.

“I left him dreaming about a revolution. A _world_ revolution.”

“It would be wise to keep in with him.” he paused when the sound of footfalls met our ears. “Here,” he handed me the flask, “put that in your pocket. There’s someone coming.”

He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand and turned his back to me. Bloody peasant manners.

I rubbed at my own mouth with the pad of my thumb.

“Everything alright, Mr. Phantomhive?”

Just what we needed. Major Randall.

“Yes, sir. I was about to turn back to make my report.”

“And who is this?” he asked, gesturing to the figure stood behind me.

“Private Michaelis, sir.”

“Ah.”

There was a long pause.

“Everything alright, Michaelis?”

“Lovely, sir.”

I ground my teeth and tried my best not to glare over my shoulder.

The little angry cockerel of a man from earlier was stood behind the major, making a little whistling noise between his teeth.

“See to it that this area is duckboarded again.” Major Randall grumbled, glancing about, taking in the depressing sight, “If there was an attack right now none of the men would be able to move. The men _must_ be able to move. What good is a soldier immobilised by mud?”

“I’ll see to it, sir.”

“Good good. Keep alert, Michaelis. Now, Phantomhive, a word with you, please.”

I followed the major back along the trench to his dug-out. He had a chair, a desk, along with straw that seemed slightly drier than mine and Aberline’s. He took of his gloves and placed them neatly on his desk alongside a small stack of paper. He carried a cane, a cane he had no problem using if trouble were to arise among the men. He threw both that and his cap down onto the straw and began to unfasten his coat, struggling with the buttons. He did not take it off, and sat down on his chair that groaned with the weight.

His fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk.

I waited, hoping I wouldn’t be kept long. My eyes stung and my body longed for sleep.

His hands now locked together, “What’s that fellow to you?”

The beating in my chest was almost painful. I swallowed, “Sir?”

“That chap. Michaelis? It has been reported that you talk to him.”

By God, I must have looked a sight, standing there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. What a way to make the question more ominous.

“Well… I… yes, sir… I suppose I do… We, eh, we come from the same place. I’ve known him…”

He spoke over me sharply, “Let it be known once and for all, Phantomhive, that I will have no talking between the men and the officers. Talking… You know what I mean?”

Either Major Randall was blissfully oblivious, or worst case scenario; he was utterly aware. I was completely at a loss.

“I, eh…”

“Make it your business to understand. Discipline _must_ be maintained at all times. In my company I will have it no other way.” he warned, staring at me from his chair, his eyes becoming angry slits, “You are all amateurs. By the time I’m done with the lot of you, you will be professionals. You are soldiers. Nothing else matters. Understand?”

I nodded slowly, my voice was difficult to find.

“I must make the best of the lot of you. The men will learn. You will learn, won’t you?”

“Yes… yes, sir.”

“That goes for your friend, Aberline, too. You will tell him what I said. There won’t be any tomfoolery here. There was something about horses reported... you know what I mean?”

“Well…”

“I didn’t listen to any of it. That little man is nothing but a fool, but let there be no next time.” he warned.

I didn’t like the man, but I can see his point.

I stood to attention.

“Get out.” he grumbled, eyes turning away.

I saluted and moved towards the door.

He spoke once more.

“Stand to arms at six thirty sharp. We should be relieved by about ten o’clock, and I do not want the company coming in here to have to spend the next ten days in our filth. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for not updating sooner. Life takes priority I'm afraid. I hope you enjoyed and if you have any comments, please let me know :)


	17. A teacher of chaos to a gentle conservative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between Aberline and Ciel.

A week or so later I was lying on a sorry excuse of a mattress in West Outre. I remember it being humid, and waking up to the smell of bacon frying. There were only occasional shells firing somewhere off in the distance. I recall the sound of rain thudding on the roof. It was almost pleasant. 

The most important thing was that someone was frying bacon, and I knew that sometime we would eat it and drinks too-sweet mugs of tea to wash it all down. It became crucial to not look beyond the immediate present, beyond, in fact, the bacon. 

“What about the horses today?” said Aberline. 

One moment asleep, snoring away comfortably, and the next wide awake.

“Horses and bacon. What could be better?” 

It was still too dark to see him but I could hear the movements he made on his mattress. 

“No. Not a hope.” 

“Why?”

“It’s a no, Aberline.” I reiterated, “Besides, you know perfectly well why.” 

“I feel the need to ride, Ciel. My knees itch, and I absolutely refuse to be terrorised by that… by that… that… for God’s sake, look at all the others who go off galloping.”

“But Aberline, he said that -”

“It’s all arranged anyway. Sebastian is game, so a fig for your objections, Ciel.”

I tried not to groan aloud as I heaved myself up and lit the lamp and started on my daily examination of the painful chilblains. The M.O had given me a white power with which to dust them, in an effort to dry up the irritating sores. The powder improved them a little during the days out from the trenches, but they were far from cured, and drove me mad with their itching. 

“Well, Aberline, just because you happen to have it arranged does not mean I have to go along with it.” 

I began unwinding the first bandage, hearing no answer. The bandage was stuck in places on my leg and I had to tug to get it off, which only opened up the healing sores. I wanted to cry because of the fact that I was inflicting these stabs of pain on myself. 

“I guess I will though.” I muttered, wincing at the sores.

“Yes.” he replied, not sounding surprised. 

“I mean, only if you think we can get away with, yes?”

“But of course, Ciel.”

He clambered from his flea bag fully clothed apart from his boots and jacket. He clasped his hands together, cracking each finger joint in turn. It made me feel ill. 

“I find that it’s hard for me to break the rules.”

I put the old bandage down on the mattress beside me and looked to my kitbag for the white powder. 

“For God’s sake. Bloody rules.” he repeated with contempt. 

I shook the little tin of power until a dusting of white coated my leg. From the top of my calf to my ankle pus and blood glistened off the lamp light. 

“You know, I should just cut it off for you.” he offered, “Then they might send you home.” 

“Give it a rest.”

The door opened and an orderly stepped in with a steaming jug of water. 

“Good morning to you both.” he greeted us as jovially as he could muster. 

“Good morning to you.” Aberline replied back, “Yes, in the basin, there’s a good chap. Well, not very generous, are you? Make sure to leave some in the jug for the teeth. I feel like polishing them up today.”

“Of course, sir.”

The orderly poured the water into the small metal bowl and placed the jug down beside the table, saluted and left. Aberline made his way over to the basin, grimacing as he looked over the rim of the bowl. 

“It’s just like being back at school, but at least the water is warm here I suppose. None of that cold splashing, windows wide open, smile, it is good for you. That’s where you missed out, Ciel. At school one learns a healthy disrespect for authority, and not much else. But you, your head is stuffed with books, and what is that worth out here?”

He lathered soap over his face and what was visible of his neck, and then he rubbed against his skin with his strong thin fingers. 

“Nothing but clean. I shall be clean. I shall, I shall.” 

It was an incantation he would utter to himself every morning. 

He bent over and stared at his own face in the dirty mirror that the orderly had attached to the wall for us, allowing me a view of my bloodshot eyes, similar to the eyes of everyone for miles around. 

I sit, wonder whether to replace the bandage, which was quite hideous to gaze upon at this point, or use a precious clean one. I decided to wait until after I had eaten. 

“These bloody gums, always bleeding. Back in the day we used to stand in a row at school. Scrub, scrub, spit, spat. Who wouldn’t have bleeding gums after that? That’s another thing you have missed out on.”

“Looks like I’ll learn it all from you, if you’re spared.”

He barked a laugh, “A teacher of chaos to a gentle conservative.”

I looked away, feeling my cheeks grow hot.

“I’m not… That’s not…”

He laughed again.

“You’re telling me you never looked down upon the oh so poor classes?”

My cheeks felt like they had been scalded.

“No… no I never.”

He blotted his face with the grey rag we used as a towel and let it fall to the floor where the orderly would surely pick it up later in the day. He came back over to me, placing his hand upon my head, almost a caress. 

“I never expected to admire gentleness in a man, Ciel.” he said, letting his hand fall to his side, “Please don’t misunderstand me in any way.”

Gently I reached up and adjusted the flame in the lamp. He stood still beside me. I looked down to the gold band he wore on his ring finger.

“Don’t misjudge me.” he repeated quietly. 

With that he moved abruptly away from me. Just a step. I glanced upwards, spying the slight smile on his face. I said nothing, purely because I did not know what to say.  


Just like that, the moment was broken.

He searched his pocket, plucking out a fine comb from its depths. He tripped over his fleabag on the way back to the mirror. Righting himself, he bent his knees to properly look at his reflection. 

“I would guess that such things would not normally be said. But then again, these are not normal circumstances, are they? Don’t feel like you must react in any way. I’m thinking that I might grow a moustache. What say you?”

I sat still, left with the confusion in my mind that perhaps he had thought more than he had said. Perhaps he was trying to undermine me? Or perhaps he was merely making a simple statement of familial affection to which I was entirely unable to react. I had only ever really had Sebastian…

In the life that I had always known, impulsiveness and warmth were unknown, seen almost as dangerous. That which went against the order of things.  
I powdered my leg carefully. 

“It would suit me, don’t you think?” he asked, “Ciel?”

“Ah… yes, it would.”

“You know, that drooping Victorian variety. How about that?”

“Splendid.” I answered. 

He stopped running the comb through his hair, looking back over his shoulder.

“Have I annoyed you?”

“No.”

“That’s a pity.” 

I decided that I would replace the horrid bandages after all. 

“So you will come with us, yes?”

“I said I would.”

“You did indeed. Where the hell is that bacon? The smell of it will drive me insane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delay in updating. College had taken priority. I hope you enjoyed! Please kudo, bookmark or comment. It would be really appreciated and spur me on to update sooner.


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